Heart to Heart Conversation
by E.M.K.81
Summary: Summary: Erik talks about his childhood and how he became the man he is now. His childhood wasn't happy. (Rated T just to be save.) Leroux-based, but most of it is my own imagination and very hard research work. Has not much to do with the book by Susan Kay.
1. Family

_**Heart to Heart Conversation**_

 _Summary: Erik talks about his childhood and how he became the man he is now. His childhood wasn't happy. (Trigger Warning!) Leroux-based, but most of it is my own imagination and very hard research work. Has not much to do with the book by Susan Kay._

 _Before I start writing this fanfic I want to thank some people for the inspiration and their many reviews to my other stories._

 _Igenlode Wordsmith: This is the story I told you about in a reply to one of your reviews. The most important inspiration I got from you! THANK YOU! :-D_

 _emeraldphan: Thank you for the many reviews._

 _Not a Ghost3: Thank you!_

 _Gaby1964: Thank you!_

 _Greenfire87: Thanks for some background information! If you read this you'll know what I'm talking about._

 _angelofnight: I hope you read this - and your reviews are most welcome._

 _Louise-Anne and Phantom Night Owl: I got some inspiration from your stories. ;-)_

 _gravity01: I hope you read this, for the style was inspired by one of your fanfics._

 _and all the other readers who bothered to review my stories: Thanks, I get much inspiration from reviews and some chat via PM!_

 **HEART TO HEART CONVERSATION**

 **Family**

Good evening, my friend. Sorry for visiting seldom, I've been very busy of late. Well, never mind. May I have a seat? Thank you. Maybe you wonder why I came today. Well... we have known each other for some time now, but I never told you what it is like to be a child when you are a freak of nature, did I?

I was born in France, a small village near Rouen, the name of the village is irrelevant, it could have been any of them. My parents had a nice home, a house in the outskirts, with a well and a hand operated pump for water, a small horse stable behind the house and a shack for the firewood. There was, of course, no indoor toilet, we had a privy in the backyard.

My father was a master mason who had his own little construction company. He was always complaining that business was bad, but I don't know if this was true or not. He was a tall man and very strong. My mother was tall too and beautiful, really beautiful, with her green eyes and her black hair. My brothers...

Hey, why do you give me that look? Did you think I was unable to have siblings? I guess if I had been the first born child, my parents wouldn't have tried for another one but I wasn't.

My oldest brother Etennie was born seven months after my parents got married. What? Do you think they had been enemies before their marriage? It must have been quite a scandal, my father often adressed reproaches to mother for forcing him into that marriage when she was just from a poor family. Never mind, at least THAT was not my fault.

A bit more than one year after his birth, my second brother Robert was born. And only ten months after his birth they had my sister Yvette.

And then, 13 month after Yvette was born, me. I must have been a severe disappointement, a freak, a monstrosity. I do not know why they didn't kill me, certainly I would never hold that against them. But here I was, alive and an annoyance to everyone. While my siblings had only one name, I had many. Father called me "bastard" and to mother I was "changeling", to my siblings I was simply "ugly". Yes, I thought these were my names, you see, the dog was called "sunshine" and the horse "buttercup". Sometimes I think I was an extremely stupid child, but then, I was about two years old.

I first realized that something was wrong with me was when my father hurt mother. I do not know why, but my siblings were all visiting grandparents I never met. I was sitting at the cottage piano.

We had a cottage piano because father thought it was nice for a woman to play. Music was something women made to please their husbands. Boys didn't play music, boys engaged in useful activities – whatever that was. I have no idea. But I was allowed to play because he thought I was useless anyway, so he never bothered to teach me anything, while mother liked music and that I played for her while she was cleaning the house, washing the clothes or cooking.

Father was at home, I have no idea why, and he was angry with mother. He accused her of adultery, called her vile names, any vulgar word for "whore", if you understand what I mean. She vowed to be faithful and he said I could never be a spawn of his loins. She told him that I had brown hair and amber eyes like himself, but he became even more furious. He beat her, forced her to the floor and hurt her, he was lying on top of her, crushing her with his weight. I took cover behind the piano stool, trying to hide myself and stayed as quiet as possible. Father yelled at her that he would impregnate her and if that other child would be normal he would know for sure that she was a whore and I wasn't his.

When he left to go to work, she was lying on the floor, crying. I crawled to her, but I do not know if I wanted to comfort her or was in desperate need for her comfort, but she slapped me and yelled at me that this was all my fault. If I wasn't there, her husband would still love her.

And then my sister Cloe was born. She was not beautiful, but she was normal. I was… I guess it must have been after my fourth birthday, yes, because then I already lived in the stable.

You didn't know? Really? I never told you? Well, I was a bad child, a fithy one and I had the bad habit to wet the bed. I do not know why, it happened almost every night and mother was fed up with cleaning my sheets each morning. "If you want to sleep in your pee like a pig you can do so, but never in the house. If you insist on behaving like an animal, you sleep in the stable," she said and I moved to the stable. The stable had three boxes, but only Buttercup lived there. Now father put up a wooden casket and filled it with straw. That was to be my bed from now on. I cried because I felt so ashamed and was afraid of being alone. But it helped. I do not know why, but when I was sleeping in the straw with our mixed-breed dog Sunshine in my arms, hearing the noises from Buttercup, I rarely woke in wet straw and if I did, I could clean it out and no one would ever know.

Cleaning the stable was something I liked. The first thing I did every morning was brushing Buttercup. I had to climb on the grid to reach her back, but I didn't mind. I loved brushing the mare. Then I cleaned the stable, so father could just ride off when he came out oft he house after breakfast.

I got my breakfast when my siblings left for school. I would sit on the kitchen table and eat while mother cleaned the dishes. Then I played the piano. I was happy to be allowed to play.

At noon my siblings and my father returned for lunch. I wasn't allowed to eat with them, they said I was too disgusting, they would vomit when they saw me, so I had to eat in the kitchen. I was well-fed, I can't complain about that. And I was never cold or neglected, no, it would be unfair to lie about that.

My siblings hated school. It wasn't so much school itself, it was more the other children. Etennie got beaten almost every day. He told me that this was my fault, they hurt him because they hated me. And he pummeled me.

Robert wasn't beaten. His classmates believed that I was a binger of bad luck and living so close to me had "infected" him and he was "infecting" everything he touched. So they clapped their hands three times to "disinfect" things or themselves. It must have been hard to see his classmates shun him like that and clap their hands every time he touched them or some things that weren't his. He was angry and he took it out on me, telling me it was all my fault.

Yvette was a very shy and quiet girl. They shunned her too, she was lonely. No one would speak to her, no one would play with her, they treated her as if she wasn't there and she learned to avoid them for they would kick her away any time she tried to come closer to anyone or run her over when she didn't stay out of their way. And, of course, this too was my fault.

I did not do it deliberately and I have no idea what I could have done to prevent these things but I surely caused them. My mere existence was an offence to humanity and therefor they punished my family. As you might have guessed, my fathers bad luck with his business was my fault too.

But then Etennie found that I learned everything very fast. You see, if I want to memorize something, you have to tell me only once and I remember it forever. So he taught me reading, writing and the basics of math so I could do his homework. He had a slate and a slate pencil. He would wipe out what he had written in school, hand me the book and told me to do his homework. If I did his homework, he wouldn't beat me. I rather liked that deal and asked Robert and Yvette if we could make similar deals. They agreed.

My parents must have found out you say? Actually no. After lunch I was to go to my box in the stable. I had a table, a chair and an oil lamp. No one saw me. As long as my siblings didn't disturb mother in her housework or caring for little Cloe, no one cared. The oil lamp? Yes, I was about five years old, I think. None of my siblings was allowed to have matches and I had an oil lamp. Sometimes I wonder if my parents hoped I would set the stable on fire and die or if they just didn't care. But I was proud that they trusted me with the lamp and was very careful with it.

I was never allowed to go to school, and after what I heard from my brothers, I didn't even want to. But I wanted to go to church.

What's so funny? I do not look like the religious type? Ha! Of course not. All I knew about religion was that there was a God who was like a father and disliked sinners. And I was a sinner, at least if I count the punishment I got.

No, it wasn't unfair. I have to admit that I was no good boy. Since I hated my brothers, I sometimes sneaked into their room and deliberately pissed on their beds, or I would use horse dung to fertilise the flowers on the carpet. Haha. I was a wicked child. At least until mother found out what I was doing. They immediately held a "family court". It was staged like a court trial and it was always in the shack with the firewood. No, it wasn't unfair, my siblings were punished in the same way. It was just that I was punished more often but I have to admit that I do not know if I really was more disobedient than the others or if my parents just were strict when I was concerned.

Mother would stand in front of the chopping block, a whip in her hand. The others had to stand at her side, the sinner had to kneel down and confess his sin and beg for a condign punishment. Then he had to take off his shirt, pull down his pants and lie belly down on the chopping block. Mother would tell him how many strokes he would get and he would receive the lashes to his back or butt.

I shouldn't use that language? Hell, I use whatever I think fitting! Stop interrupting me!

I remember when I was very young I was so afraid of the punishment, I would pee myself. That was three extra lashes. Or two extra lashes for tears or one stroke for each cry. Believe me, you learn to bite back tears or hold in cries very soon. I learned to keep silent and move around without noise very early in my life, for I found out, the less I made my presence known to my parents or my siblings the less beatings I got. Yes, I know. I am not telling this really chronological but my memory of that time is indistinct.

After one got his lashes, he had to get dressed, go down on one knee and say: "Thank you for the most lenient chastisment. I know I deserve severe punishment." and kiss mother's right hand that had dealt the punishment while she was still holding the whip. All, except me.

I was never allowed to kiss mothers hand. I would have gladly endured every chastisement if I had been revarded with a kiss. But no, this wasn't for me. Mother told me that I was so horrible, so disgusting, so filthy and vile, I must never ever touch a woman, not her, not my sisters, no women. If I touched them they could die from sheer horror. Of course I didn't want to kill anyone, so I didn't ask again. I really believed I risked killing a woman if I ever touched her, but I knew for sure, that not every physical contact killed or my mother and my sisters would be dead by that time.

I just had to say that cursed sentence in self-abasement.

Why did I never refuse to do this? Good question. Severe sins were punished by my father, not my mother, and being disrespectful to our parents was a severe sin. Father was much stronger than mother, when he flogged us he drew blood with each lash. Sometimes he would break the rod, then we would have to do some work to pay for the broken rod.

Cruel? No, that wasn't cruel. You see, they had to discipline us somehow. And it wasn't as if other children weren't treated like that. All lived like that, so I can't really blame them. They thought it was in our best interest, for if they didn't punish us, we would never stop committing sins and we would become the worst sort of criminal and end up in hell. So better receive a few lashes now than risk eternal punishment in hell, don't you agree?

Of course we also received rewards for being good or making them happy. They never told any of their children that they loved them, seldom kissed them, never stroked or embraced them for fear they would pamper us. But if we had done something good and made them happy they would give us a sun. Mother cut small suns from yellow paper and we children collected them. Yvette had most of them, then Robert, then Etennie and I... well, I had none until I was... I don't know, I guess around four and a half or five.

Yes, I am going to tell you, please, show some patience, will you?

Every Saturday evening all of us would take a bath. Since preparing the bath was such hard work, we had only one bath a week, and that was Saturday evening so we would be "nice and clean" for Sunday. Mother would put up a metal bath tub in the kitchen, chop wood, fire the wood-burning stove to heat water in a large pot. She had to fetch many buckets from the hand-operated pump and she mixed the cold water with boiling hot until there was a steaming bath. Father always took his bath first, so he had the cleanest water. Then mother took her bath, then my sisters, after them my brothers and I was always the last one because I was filthy, dirty, disgusting so no one could be asked to use the water after me. I always got the dirtiest water and it wasn't really warm any more. Sometimes my brothery would taunt me that they had pissed in the tub. I never knew if they just said so or really did this to me.

Sorry, I am rambling on...

Well, each Sunday my family would dress in their finest clothing and go to church. I was never allowed to accompany them, I didn't even have Sunday-clothing. We children didn't wear shoes except on Sunday or when it was winter. Shoes would be passed on from the eldest brother to us younger children and we had to be careful with them for Little Cloe would need them too. But on Sunday my siblings were allowed to wear shoes. But not me, I had to stay at home. Of course mother worried about my soul, so she gave me a Bible to read. As if a four or five year old boy would read the Bible when he was alone at home! I enjoyed being at home and exploring all rooms I wasn't allowed to enter. Sometimes I would just lie on mothers bed, sometimes I was up to mischief ans played pranks, taking the risk of being caught and punished.

Yes, I'm back on topic, don't fret! Sometimes you are an impatient listener.

Well, since they went through so much trouble to prepare for church and it was forbidden to me I thought it must be something great. Going to church must be great fun, why else would everyone make such a fuss about it? And since it was forbidden to me, it must be something really good. So I started whining and begging that they should pleeeeeeeeease allow me to accompany them. Even punishment for being disrespectful didn't stop me from asking again and again, until my mother was weeping and went to my father to plead with him for me.

Father was displeased. He accused her again being a shameless whore who wanted to celebrate her disgrace in public. But mother insisted that I had a soul - I didn't know what this would be, but it must be something precious - and they couldn't deny me if I wanted it so badly. Father decided that if I would accomplish a task he would give me, I would be allowed to go to church with them. I eagerly accepted. He gave me the task to copy some of his blueprints. I got paper, a pair of compasses, triangle ruler, lineal and pencil. He showed me how to use these instruments and then left me alone in the stable. It took me three weeks of trial and error until I finally was able to present the copy of the blueprint to my father. During these three weeks I rarely got to see my family and I didn't get beaten. Stay out of everyones way, be invisible and noiseless and you don't get beaten. A bitter lecture, but a necessary one for my survival.

But when I presented my copy to my father I watched his face change, his jaw drop and his eyes widen. I didn't know then but he had given me a task for a technical draftsman, thinking a child my age could never do this, silencing me for years. Then he laughed out as he noticed that I even had copied the architect's signature. I didn't know this was the signature and I wasn't allowed to copy that - I had made a good copy and for the first time in my life father smiled at me. "Maybe you are my son after all," he said. It was the greatest praise I ever heard from his lips, I bowed to him deeply and thanked him.

The next Saturday mother gave me my first paper sun. I hid it in the stable for I was afraid my brothers would steal it. Father gave me a shirt, a tie and a suit. It was a dark brown suit, he had bought it second-hand and it was a bit too large, but I was a child, I would grow. Mother gave me a new mask.

I never mentioned the mask? Well, maybe because it was so normal to wear it. You see, my most private parts - that's my face. Everyone covers what he has between his legs, but I was ashamed of my face far more than of any other part of my body. I'd rather go without my pants than without my mask for I knew my face. I had to look at it in a mirror each day when I was combing my hair and I knew just how ugly I was. It wasn't half as bad as it is now, but I was hideous and sickened by the sight of it.

Well, that Sunday I dressed in my new clothes, made sure my hair was neatly tied back with a ribbon - o yes, I had long brown hair that time - and stood patiently before the door and waited for my family to come out of the house. Father took the hands of my brothers, mother held the hands of my sisters. My eldest brother complained he was old enough to walk alone but mother told him she would have none of it for she was afraid one of us might get lost. I got no hand to hold onto. Maybe it was their way to tell me to get lost but I was too clingy and stayed close to them.

We were being stared at and I could hear the whisper among the other people. They asked how my parents could have the audacity to bring that filthy beast to church, they should be ashamed, they should drive me off. I often heard the word "changeling". I learned later that they believed that sometimes fairies would have a child. A child from the netherworld would be easily recognizeable for it would be most ugly. The fairies would kidnap the true child and replace it with their ugly one, leaving it to the unhappy parents to raise the changeling who would bring them nothing but bad luck, but killing the changeling would result in angering the fearies so they would take revenge in the most cruel ways. The only chance was to raise the child and treat it badly to drive it away, which was difficult, for all changelings were very clingy and persistent. But when the changeling finally had enough and ran away, the true child would magically return and all would live happily ever after.

Not one of these tales told about the fate of the changeling.

The people discussed if the priest was going to reject me and not allow me to enter church, but he didn't. I did not understand why we had to wait at the door when everyone else went inside. Then the door was closed, only to be opened again soon. The priest stood there and asked my parents what they wanted and they pushed me to stand in front of the priest and told him they wanted me baptised. I did not know that time that it was unusual to have a child my age not christened, most babies were baptised days after being born. But since I was old enough to speak for my own the priest asked me if I wanted to become a church member. I didn't understand much, so I just looked at my parents if they allowed me to speak, when mother nodded, I answered it was my greatest wish. It was no lie in that moment, I was really excited to be allowed to go to church, I thought this must be something really great.

The priest just nodded and gently took my hand to lead me to the baptismal font. When we stood there, the priest asked for my name and father said he wanted me to have the name of the patron saint of that day. It was the 18th of May. Therefor I got the name Erik. Had I finished the copy of the blueprint one week earlier I guess my name would have been Joachim, one week later and I would be Urban. I didn't care much, I was just happy that I finally got a real name and not just "bastard" "changeling" or "ugly". The priest said something in Latin and sprinkled me with holy water. I do not know why but everyone let out the breath they had been holding. What had they expected to happen to me? Maybe the holy water would kill me, or cure my defacement, or hurt me? I have no idea. But nothing happened. I was allowed to sit with my family in one bench. Everyone kept distance to us as if we were suffering from some vicious disease.

Mass itself was a disappointement to me. It was in Latin and I did not understand anything. The parish's singing was terrible. But the one thing that saved my day was the organ. I listened to an organ for the first time in my life and immediately was taken by its sound. I was crying when we left the church, I begged my father to allow me to stay and was about to throw a temper trantrum when the priest came to my rescue and comforted me and told me of course I could come back next week. I begged him to let me stay, I didn't want to go home, I wanted to live in the church and promised to be a good boy and clean the stable, brush the horses and do every work they told me to do. The priest refused, I was too young, but if that was really my wish I should come back when I was at least 14. The priest berated my parents for withholding the comfort of religion from me for such a long time and that they should be grateful that I was such a devout boy. Obviously he had mistaken my reluctance to leave for devoutness when I was only thinking of the organ and the glorious music. I simply hoped I would be allowed to learn how to play it, if I stayed and worked hard enough.

"There are no such things as fearies and changelings," he said, "that is paganic superstition. Erik is your child and his deformity is a punishment for YOUR sins, not his. He's an innocent boy." My father eyed mother with a fiery glare and I knew he would hurt her that day. She was already crying in fear. And again, it was my fault and I cried too. The priest bent down and smiled at me. "No, my son, you don't need to cry. You can come back next week."

From that day on I was allowed to go to church each Sunday. I learned to sing the hymns and I listened to the organ. Sometimes I studied the images of the saints with great interest. The priest loved to see me kneel before the great oil painting for hours. Little did he know that I wasn't praying, I was admiring the artwork, studying each brushstroke. One day he presented me a small commemorative coin and told me to keep it. If I needed help, I should ask the Saint Drogo to pray for me. He told me that Saint Drogo was so badly disfigured, he had himself walled in for many long years to protect people from his terrible sight. And now he was a saint. He told me not to give up for there was hope for me, if I endured patiently in this life I would be rewarded after death. I guess I had a very, very twisted view of religion and church that time. Tee-hee.

Everyone in our family had his or her personal duties. Mine were to brush Buttercup, clean the stable, play the piano for mother, do the homework for my brothers and my sister, and copy blueprints for my father, sometimes altering the scale of the blueprint. I was basically doing the work of a technical draftsman, well, at least sort of.

What? Did you think I was born an architect or a master mason? I was lucky to be able to draft like an adult and to get an education doing the homework for my siblings. Sometimes I had my own ideas but since everyone kept telling me that children were stupid and never allowed to question their elders I never told anyone. I mistrusted my own abilities and trusted my father to lead me.

Years passed in that way and life became more and more difficult. Father's business was slack and we didn't have much money. My mother had two more babies but one of them died, Little Fabienne survived, but she was a crippled child, she was beautiful but unable to use her legs. There were days when we were not able to eat our fill but I always got my share. In that, my parents were very stringent. They would never tolerate injustice. I can't really say that they were bad parents, I only wished that they would allow me to kiss them and embrace them like my siblings were allowed to. I knew that they didn't love me and that I indeed was a bringer of bad luck, I saw my brothers and sisters suffer each day mistreatment at the hands of the other children, my parents being shunned and mocked by the adults.

And then there was that fateful day in autumn when I was nearly eight years old. Father and I had been attending to mass, the others not. I don't know why, maybe they had been ill, I do not remember. On our way home some men interjected us and told my father to hand me over, they would know how to drive off the changeling, they would know how to "handle" the freak. Father refused and fought to protect me, but they snatched away my mask and finally we were forced to run home, but father warned me to stay at home from now on, my mere existence put all of us in danger.

The next day Etennie was found brutally battered, his right arm and several ribs broken, Robert had been thrown into the cesspit of the pig farmer and Yvette came home crying with her hair wet - her classmates had forced her to lie down on the street and a boy had pissed in her face, telling her she should be grateful for that was the best any man would ever do to someone such as her. Cloe had been forced to eat horse dropping and was sick, only Fabienne had not suffered that day for she was not able to leave the house.

Father came home drunk - he was no drunkard, certainly not, it was the first time I ever saw him drunk - and in a terrible mood. He again accused mother of adultery and me being a bastard who brought nothing but bad luck to all of them. Well, we children all fled to the stable to hide there while he took it out on mother. I guess he raped her brutally, she lost the sight of one eye that day. And it was all my fault - my existence brought all that suffering to them. I could take no more. I got dressed in my Sunday suit, which was a bit small that time, and placed my shoes next to Cloe's bed. She would need them next and I didn't want to take anything with me that wasn't mine.

Yes, I know. Later I would become a thief. But I wasn't at that young age, I was not even eight years old.

I went to my mother, who was bed-ridden then, and handed her my most valuable possesions: the one yellow paper sun and my commemorative coin. She looked up at me with her swollen face. "I wish I could have been your true son," I whispered and she just nodded. I think she knew I was saying goodby but she did nothing to discourage me from running away. I went to the stable to brush Buttercup and Sunshine one last time, then I left and headed for the street that lead away from the village with nothing but the clothes on my body, barefooted despite the coldness.

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 _Author's note: Since English is not my first language, I beg your indulgence for the mistakes in grammar and spelling. I am constantly working to practice my English, but it is a foreign language and difficult to learn._

 _This is only the first chapter. I do not know when I can finish the next chapters, so please be patient and in the meantime - I would love to get a review from you. Thank you very much._

 _Growing up in a upper-working-class family wasn't easy that time. I've done some research, even talked to old people about their childhood, to get a realistic view of that time. What happens to Erik's siblings in this story wasn't hard to imagine - it happened in all schools all the time and no, no one of the adults would help the victims. I know what being a mobbing victim first-Hand is like, so pease do not tell me this chapter is not suitable for minors when children actually live through similar ordeals every day. Okay, that was a very personal note, I hope you are not offended by this very personal Statement._

 _Thank you for reading._


	2. Gypsy

**HEART TO HEART CONVERSATION**

 **Gypsy**

Good evening, my friend. Yes, I know it is late, but it is never too late for a good tale to be told, isn't it? Awww, it's not like you did any work today so you can't be that tired. O yes? Now you do want to hear it? Very well.

I told you that I ran away from home. That turned out to be a very bad idea. It was autumn and the night was cold and foggy and dark and I was a child of nearly eight years. Yes, that was important, I was not seven, I was nearly eight. What? No, that is not the same. To me that was very important at that time. But a child alone in the night, the coldness and the fog in a wood - well, that was frightening. I had nothing but my clothes, not even shoes, no knife, no matches, no lamp, nothing. All I had was a crude stick I had found in the woods. Of course I knew tales about wolves lurking in the wood, waiting to eat children who dared to go there at night, of course I knew tales about robbers who did even worse to children and in this fog and darkness I had trouble staying on the street. You see the street was not like a street in Paris, it was just a trail, nothing more.

That night was one of the most frightening nights in my life. I had no idea where I was, where the next town was and I heard so many noises I had never heard before. In the silence of the night even the tiniest noise was like thunder in my head and I was so scared, my imagination played cruel tricks on me, making me see wolves everywhere. There was not one wolf, or I would not be here today and if there were robbers, they surely knew better than to waste time with a child which didn't even have shoes. It was so cold, I didn't feel my feet after a while. Since I had no watch I did not know the time, I just went on because I knew when I would sit down I would die for sure.

You can't imagine my relief when the first light of the morning showed me that there were no wolves, what I had seen were just bushes and a stray cat. I was tired, hungry and cold, but I was still alive and started to wonder what I was to do. I had no idea what the world was like, all I knew was that I had to find something to eat and something to keep me warm. I wouldn't dare wander through the wood again, one night had been more than enough to scare the hell out of me.

It was about noon when I reached a village. I was very thirsty and found a small well with a hand-operated pump where I got some ice cold water to drink. Unfortunately someone saw me and within moments several women were there, shouting at me to get away from their water. I didn't argue, I just ran. What else could I have done? I still wonder what they thought I was doing - surely a few gulps of water would not make any difference to them.

When I walked through the village I made the mistake not hiding myself and was spotted by children who came from school. They attacked me and forced me to take off my mask. When they saw my face they ran away, crying they had just seen the walking dead and I fled from that village before they would beat me to death, which turned out to cause another problem - I was on the road again, with nowhere to go and scared of the night. But luckily I found a tiny chapel somewhere, it was so small, it just had a miniature altar and not even one bench, but I found shelter there and I even slept a few hours despite the coldness and my fear and woke with a terrible cough and my pants wet.

The next day I reached another village, but this time I didn't just go there. I sneaked around it, trying to find some water and maybe even food. Close to the churchyard I saw a beautiful carriage with a emblem. I knew that only nobility used such emblems and since I had always heard that noblemen would be good I dared approach the carriage. The driver was going to the small well with a bucket to get water for the horses while a young man fed the two horses with small pieces of bread. I would have loved to have some of the bread for myself, so I just went to him and asked directly, naive boy that I was I hoped he would help me. He looked down on me in contempt.

"I can brush the horses, clean their hooves, fetch them water if you give me some of the bread," I begged. He looked down at me and told me to get away from him, he didn't want to get fleas from beggars like me. I tried to argue that I was no beggar but he replied: "Surely you understand, boy, that I do not need you. If I let you brush the horses, you would take away that work from my driver and he has a family to feed. You don't want that, do you?" I was hungry, but not hungry enough not to understand that the driver's family needed the income. So I just turned to begging, but he fed all of the bred to his horses and I could just watch from some distance. When I saw him disappear to the graveyard with a very large candle telling the driver to use the overlay so the horse rugs would not get dirty something within me snapped. I saw the horses wearing velvet with golden embroidery and linnen overlays while I was so cold and hungry something within me snapped. I went to the carriage again while the driver was away to relieve himself and took a woolen blanket from the seat and ran away as fast as I could. I think it was my first real theft, if I do not count stealing sweets from mother's kitchen, but I did not feel bad about it.

I had made a mistake and chosen the wrong path for suddenly I was at the small chapel again. It was too late to return to the village - and I didn't even want to - so I spent another night there, plagued by nightmares about wolves and children attacking me. I woke early because of the terrible hunger and started to walk again, this time I took another road at a junction. When I came by a fruit garden I saw so many apple and pear trees, I just had to go there. I took some peas and apples and went away to find myself a hiding place where I could eat them. I guess I ate a bit too much for withing few hours I had terrible diarrhoea, I needed to hide in the undergrowth beside the road every so often, but I did not only hide when I had to relieve myself, I also hid when I noticed other people on the road. I didn't want to meet anyone.

In the next village I put the blanket around my head and shoulders, a bit like a woman wearing a chador, which helped hiding my masked face. In that makeshift disguise I sat down before the door of the church, keeping my head down, begging for food. There were a few benevolent people who gave me something. I didn't get any coins but I got some bread and a matchbox. By then I had a terrible cough and most likely fewer, so that night I sneaked into the church and curled up on the carped before the altar. I felt save there, at least as save as I could under these circumstances. Well, never sleep on a valuable carpet when you have the bad habit to wet the bed. It wasn't a pleasant morning, neither for me nor for the priest who found me. I had to run again, leaving the village, hoping they would not find me, but to my shame I have to admit that I stole a large candle from the church.

It was too cold to wash myself and my clothes, even as I found a small rivulet with crystal clear water. It just was too cold and I had no other clothes. I guess I didn't just look like a corpse then, I also stunk like one. Aww, come on, it IS funny after so many years. No, I am not ashamed. Why would I be? I was a sick child and had no one to help me.

That night I wandered with my candle in my hand, the candle giving me light and a bit warmth, it helped a lot to make me feel a bit better alone in the darkness and the fog. Or maybe the fewer just reached a point where I no longer cared if I died or not, breathing was painful and the coughing fits were even more painful and sometimes I though I would suffocate on the mucus, but fortunately I always managed to spit it out. I must have collapsed somewhere, for I found myself lying on a pile of dry leaves in a very large tent, when I next opened my eyes without any idea how I had ended up there. In that tent were many horses tied to pegs. I was in some sort of mobile horse-stable and stared at the many different horses I saw there.

"You awake?" I heard a voice. A man with dark skin and funny clothes brushed the horses. I answered only with a coughing fit. He came to me, touched my forehead and I screamed as I noticed that I was naked, really naked, I didn't have a mask. "Hush, calm down, I won't hurt you", the man said and pointed to a bowl next to me. "Eat!" It was some sort of soup, not really hot anymore but I was starving. I ate as hastily as my cough allowed it. Then I thanked the man and asked if he could give my clothes back. He pointed to a pile of rags. These were not my clothes but I had no choice and put them on.

It turned out that a gypsy tribe had found me unconscious on the street. They had taken me in and now the man with the horses told me I had to stay with them. I didn't understand why but I was very happy that at last someone actually WANTED to have me. "You really want to keep me?" I asked astonished, "Really? O thank you! I promise to be good! I can brush your horses and clean their hooves, I promise, I do everything, just let me stay!"

I guess he was taken aback by my eagerness to live with them, but he agreed.

The gypsies were just one large family, a grandfather who was the only one to make any decisions, his seven sons and their wives and their children. They lived in horse-drawn wooden caravans and they were in the horseflesh-business. They had some mares, a stallion and they bred horses, but they would also buy horses, make them "look good" and sell them. There is a nice German word for people like that: "Rosstäuscher" - that is someone who makes an old, sick horse look so good it can be sold - and hopefully you get away from the buyer before he finds out he has been betrayed. Well, they surely were tricksters.

Living with them wasn't bad. I was one of the first ones to get up in the morning and start brushing the horses, cleaning the hooves, help feeding the horses and I was also taught how to make them look good. I was good with the horses and I liked them.

I did not like the other children. They loved to taunt me, called me shit-eater and loved to tie me to a tree and use me as target to throw horse-droppings at me. One hit to my arms or legs was one point, hit my torso was two points, hit my face three points. When I was dirty, I got punished by the young women who had to do the laundry, they would just beat me brutally. I did not dare tell her what her children were doing to me, I was too scared of them, so in the end when they wanted to "play with me" I went with them, stripped naked and they did not even need to tie me up, I endured their game, washed myself, got dressed and went back to the camp with them. Of course they pretended to be my friends around adults. My only protection against their humiliating game was to stay close to the adults and do some work for them. As long as I worked, the other children left me in peace for they knew that if I didn't do that work, they would have to do it.

Why I did not run away? Well, where do you think I could have gone? I still had that cough, it got better but I didn't really get rid of it. And with the gypsies I could sleep in the tent with the horses, when they travelled I sat at the back of one of the horses they wanted to sell, I got food and clothing. Of course I got beaten for disobedience, for asking for more food, for being disrespectful to the grandfather, for getting my clothes dirty, for showing my face - I didn't have a mask, I just had a headscarf I would tie around my head in a certain way - and for frightening the small children. But then... that was nothing I didn't experience before. And the one man who had taken me in - he was really nice. He taught me to ride a horse, to care for a horse, the difference between good and bad horses, and whenever I asked him if he still wanted to have me he said yes. Why would I ever run away if he wanted me? He did treat me like one of his horses, and this meant I was well-fed, I even got some wine with water or hot wine when winter came. He even gave me socks and wooden clogs, so I did no longer have to walk in the snow barefooted. And I was happy. Yes, I was happy for the first time in my life someone told me that he wanted to keep me.

We traveled somewhere through France, always buying horses, taking them with us a few days, selling them again. When my guardian wanted to show the buyers that a horse was really gentle as a lamb I would have to hold it. I was skeletally thin and just a small boy, so when I could handle a horse the buyers thought it had to be a gentle one. They didn't know that I just had an apple in my shirt and the horse stood before me, it's nose nuzzling my shirt, because it wanted the apple. Or sometimes they would just give it wine to make it drunk. Then you could do almost everything with that horse, even if it was a nasty beast. Washing the fur with eggs made it shine, brushing the teeth with ashes made them look white. If they wanted a weak horse look like a fiery racehorse they would push an onion in its ass.

What? With an onion in your ass I'd like you see running!

Travelling with them I learned that they spoke many languages, they had their own language, and they spoke French, English and German. When they sat at the camp fire they would tell stories in all of these languages and I kept asking what they were talking. This was something that was allowed. Of course the other children mocked me, for I was so stupid and didn't understand any language other than French, but my guardian told me. He even started to teach me the basics of these languages when we rode side by side. I loved him, but I do not think he had any affection towards me. He just made me presentable like he would with a horse he wanted to sell at a better price.

How I know this? Patience, I am going to tell you. Shortly after Christmas we met another gypsy tribe. I was in the tent brushing the horses when my guardian came to me and told me he had something very important to discuss. I didn't understand why anyone would discuss anything with me - they never did - but we sat in the stray and he told me that his eldest son was going to be married. The bride would come from the other tribe. She was a virgin, a diligent, obedient girl and he would have to pay a high bride price for she was beautiful too. She was worth four horses.

Why not? Many cultures know bride prices, why would I question them? I didn't even know Frenchmen had no bride prices but dowry, the father would not get money if he gives his daughter away, he would have to pay the groom to take her - what is more humiliating for a girl? To know that she is valuable or to know that her father had to pay to get rid of her? Stop interrupting me if you want to hear my story! Yes, I know it is late, so the sooner I can get on with it the sooner you can go to sleep.

He asked me to follow him and I did. He brought me to the camp fire where grandfather was sitting with three other old men. They all looked at me and I was told to take off my scarf, when I did not obey my guardian ripped it off and hit my legs with his whip for my disobedience. I stood there, staring at the men as they stared at me. One of them came over to me and took my chin in his hand, forcing me to open my mouth, studying me as if I was a horse. Then I was told to go back to the stable and continue with my work.

A little bit later my guardian came in and told me that I would have to leave him. I panicked, threw myself at his feet, begging him not to send me away.

"No, you misunderstand, boy, I do not cast you out - you are to be the bride price for my son's bride," he told me as he helped me to my feet.

I wiped away my tears and stared at him. "They really give you the girl in exchange for ME?" I asked, dumbfounded, "Does this mean, I am worth four horses?"

No, this was not frightening or humiliating. On the contrary, I was excited. I was worth four horses, I, the child no one wanted. I thought my parents had been stupid to allow me to run away when they could have gotten four horses for me. Actually I was proud that I was worth four horses. So I allowed him to make me presentable, I washed myself despite the snow in the icy water of a pond, I put on the clothes he gave me and I allowed him to shave my head. He said this was better for me for I had fleas and they would go away if my head was shaved. I don't know why I was now wearing a black shirt, black pants and a black cloak that was far too large for me. I just did as I was told.

He took my hand and lead me to the old man who had studied me before. "He's a obedient boy with a good character, you will like him," my guardian assured the old man, "He's a quick learner too, you can teach him whatever you want, he's clever and diligent."

Yes, he did praise me like a prized horse. But that was more praise that I had ever gotten in my life and I didn't feel humiliated at all, I was proud. Then I saw the girl. She was... about thirteen, I guess, and the groom was fourteen. They weren't that much older than I was, I had just turned eight. Not that anyone cared about my birthday. I do not know what happened then between them, I had to promise to my guardian that I would be a good boy and obey my new grandfather. I'm not sure, I think I just nodded. Then the old man took my hand and lead me away. I was his now, but I wasn't frightened. This man had exchanged his beautiful granddaughter for me so I was assured he would treat me well for I was too valuable to be starved and abused. Someone was holding my hand to make sure I didn't get lost, I really loved this and was happy to have found a place where I wasn't seen as bringer of bad luck but as valuable.

No, this is not pervert thinking. No, this is not humiliating and no, hell, NO I do not consider this as bad. You see, they were treating me like one of their daughters. Okay, they did not treat me like a boy and I assure you I have always been a boy. But actually I was proud for I was exchanged against such a beautiful girl. For the first time in my life I felt that I wasn't worthless - and I knew I was worth four horses, which was very much, and so... well, I was proud.

I missed the wedding completely, except hearing the noise from the party that lasted two days.

Yes, I am going to tell you, don't worry.

I was taken to a large tent. At first I assumed I was there to care for horses, but in that tent there were small caravans, very much like the other larger caravans outside, but they were far too small for a family. "Meet your co-stars," the new grandfather said and I coughed. At first he was worried about my cough, well, angry, is more the right word. But when he had pressed his ear to my naked breast and listened to my breathing he was assured that it was nothing that wouldn't go away if I was kept warm and drank much tea.

Then he knocked on one of the small caravans that stood in a circle in the large tent and opened shutters. I saw that behind the shutters were metal bars, the other three sides were normal wooden planking. In this caravan was a very comfortable armchair, a table with an oil lamp and a man was sitting in the chair, reading a book. "Hey, Beastman, this is our new attraction, Corpse Boy. Be a good lad and show him around, will you?"

The man got up, took a key from his pocket and left the caravan through the door. Only when I stood before him I noticed that he was covered with hair, he didn't look human, he looked like an animal. But he wore fine clothing. "At your service," he said with an elegant bow, then turned to me, "A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur, since we are not formally introduced yet allow me to do that by myself: I am Jose. Will you grant me the pleasure to know your name?"

I stared at him open-mouthed. He was such a gentleman, but he looked like a beast, I understood why they called him Beastman - as he must have understood why they called me Corpse Boy. I was too surprised to be called "Monsieur" to answer. It took me a while until I noticed that I was alone with Jose and he was patiently waiting for an answer. "Erik," I said, my voice raspy, "my name is Erik."

Again he bowed deeply. "I'm delighted to meet you," he said and I had no idea how I should answer to him. My manners were that of a working class boy and not a gentleman.

He politely overlooked my lack of decent behavior and explained to me that this travelling sideshow was more or less a zoo presenting curiosities. People would pay to see us. He was billed as "the Beastman from the Rocky Mountains". He wasn't from America, he was from Spain, but claiming to be from America made him even more attractive. His job was to sit in his cage and read from books and newspapers to show the audience that he was not only tamed but educated. But he wasn't to communicate with the audience or show his really elaborate manners. I would be "Corpse Boy" and they would experiment a bit with a background story for me. I would sit in another cage and let people see me, I would have to do something to prove that I was alive.

Then he showed me the other cages, he just opened the shutters. In one cage was a dog with six legs, then there was a hyena. A real hyena. She was dangerous, could kill a man, crack the leg of a horse with her mighty jaws. A goat with four horns, Jose explained to me that this was a rare goat race, all of them had four horns but it was seldom found outside Austrian alps. The goat race is called "Vierhornziege" but here it was called "The Witches Riding Goat". A snake with legs. Well, that was no snake with legs, it was a goanna. And Beastman was certainly no beast but a real gentleman. Well, Corpse Boy - I can't argue that. Haha.

Of course it was not funny. But what can I do now instead of laugh? Cry? Scream? It is over, so I can only laugh for I can never change it.

Well, it worked like this: The tent with the curiosities drew in the crowds. We had to sit in our cages and every hour a group of visitors were allowed inside after paying the price at the entrance. A young man would show them one curiosity after the other, telling it's story. For me they had the story that I was the son of an Egyptian magician who was so perfectly embalmed that he could be reviewed by ancient magic and would now walk among the living again after 3000 years of being dead. The shutters of one cage were opened, the story told, then shut and they went to the next cage. It was utterly boring, spending two to eight hours in that cage, surrounded by black candles, waiting to get up and bow to the audience, moving around to show them that I was really alive.

Outside the large tent with the curiosities were smaller tents, a fortune teller, a healer selling portions, a tinker, a woman who sold junk jewellery - you know that sort of jewellery most people think gypsies would wear and therefore gypsies really sold them, just to make money. When the travelling fair was closed of course no one wore their show costumes or this fallalery.

Travelling with them was utterly boring compared with the other tribe. Jose and I were not allowed to let ourselves be seen without payment so we spend most of the time in a caravan we had to share. It was a small caravan, a normal one, without bars, it even had windows, but we had to draw the curtains all the time. We slept on worn carpets on the floor, rolling them up at daytime. We had a small metal stove and a table with two chairs. And of course Jose's books. He was fond of literature and science and read many languages. He started to teach me Spanish, English, German, Russian, Italian, Romanese and even Arabic and Farsi and I eagerly accepted his teaching for it was the only thing we could do.

No, we were not locked in. We had the keys to our caravan and to our cages. We would only go to our cages when the fair opened for visitors, the "Tamed Beastman" would show that he was really "tame" by reading from newspapers, astonishing the gawking crowds that he could read. If they had only known - his knowledge of so many languages and their literature matched or even surpassed every professor's. I have to admit that in my ignorance I never fully appreciated his kindness and teaching, I was just a bored boy and I wanted to run, ride the horses, see the sun... sitting in a caravan or a cage all day wasn't easy and so I often quarreled with Jose and made his life miserable. I often provoked him, mocking and taunting him, even hurting him, just because I needed to quarrel with someone. Sometimes he had to slap me, hold me down until I had recovered from my temper tantrum.

No, I told you, I was not locked in, neither was Jose. We had the keys, we just obeyed the rules. Well, not really of our free will - I did, because it was the only way to avoid the mobbing from the other children and Jose because he was such a gentle character, he avoided any disagreement. There was not much need for the gypsies to beat me into submission, their children had done the trick - I obeyed because it was the only security I knew. As Jose pointed out to me: "Always keep your cage locked at a show. It is for your own safety. It is not you who is locked in, it is them who are locked out."

My life became a bit better when I started to sing to myself in my boredom. Jose noticed my beautiful voice and pointed that out to the gypsies, who asked me to sing for them. I sang some hymns, I didn't know many other songs that time. Well, they liked my voice, even at that age I had quite a range. They asked me if I could read notes and play instruments. Of course I knew the piano but they told me they couldn't drag a piano along in their travel but the grandfather himself agreed to teach me the violin. At first even the smallest children mocked me - gypsy children start practicing the violin even before they can really stand on their own feet. But my progress was a fast one, even the grandfather acknowledged that I was naturally gifted and send one of his sons to buy scores for me to play when we reached a city every so often.

I didn't like cities. There were so many people, we would stay for weeks and the shows would take up to eight hours a day. Now I was not just to stand up and move around but to play something on the violin. Once they noticed how well I could play after only a few month they asked the audience for extra money to hear the Corpse Boy play the violin. If they didn't offer enough, I would not get the signal to play.

My life was very simple then. I was mostly separated from the others and I liked it. I had Jose, my gentle teacher, and I didn't need much more. I disliked being stared at, I hated the screams, the retching, the fainting women and crying children. But I did not complain. Their money also paid for my food, the coals for our stove and my clothing. Jose told me it was better to bargain with the gypsies, they easily understood bargaining, but they would punish me for complaining or trying to run away or defying them in public like when I refused to play the violin or would just stand stock still, pretending to be a real corpse and a fake. Of course I did not believe him, but the gypsies were quick with a whip and soon I knew better than to defy them.

Yes, I could have run away any time. Why do you ask? O. Well, to be true, it never crossed my mind that I could run away. I was an eight year old boy then - I had nowhere to go and by summer we had reached the borders of France, we were travelling East and I had no idea where I was. My ability to speak foreign languages was not so developed that time, I would not have made it long if I was on my own.

Well, I started bargaining with the grandfather. I wanted to be allowed to help with the horses and he agreed under the condition that I would from now on care for the curiosities, the animals. Well, that was easy. I liked the goat and the dog, they were easy to care for, they needed to be fed, brushed, the goat had to be milked and yes, the milk would be sold in tiny bottles at a very high price. The dog needed to go for a walk each day, but so that he was not to be seen. It became my duty to walk with him every night when it was dark enough, and, of course, I had to wear a mask. The hyena was difficult. She was dangerous and mistrustful, so at first I had to clean her cage with a broom with a very long broomstick form outside the bars and every so often she would bite the broomstick in halves. But slowly I gained her trust, she wasn't laughing hysterically when I came and finally she took meat from my hands and I could enter her cage without difficulty. The gypsies nearly fainted when they saw me cleaning the cage while I was inside with the hyena - they had always thought something like this was impossible, but obviously I had unknowingly tamed it. Well, sort of. A hyena never obeys and a hyena isn't happy when you approach her. I had to wait until she decided to invite me in, otherwise she would have bitten off my hands. In the end I could collar her and lead her on a leash. She was much stronger than I and of course I had not control over her, but I took her for a walk with me and the dog.

Yes, I know this was a tremendous risk, but I was a child and didn't know the risk and never thought about it. I just did what I did, and with the hyena at my side I was save from everyone. We must have been quite a sight - a corpse and a hyena. Haha.

The other children... well, yes, that was still a problem. They liked to show me just how low in the pecking order I was. Once they found out I could not swim they threw me into a pond. I kicked and grabbed around, but I found nothing to hold onto and the water was too deep, my head under water, somehow I managed to come back to the surface but one boy dunked me. I have no idea how long this torture lasted, it felt like hours but it can't have been more than a few minutes or I would have drowned. Suddenly strong arms grabbed me and pulled me out of the water. I gasped for air, coughed and retched and spit water. It was Jose, who was now berating the children that they could have killed me - and he would tell their parents. Suddenly they were scared, the begged him to have mercy but as gentle as he was, he refused, picked me up in his arms and carried me back to the camp.

Of course the gypsies wondered why we were that drenched and I was still coughing and crying. Jose just told the gypsies that their children had just tried to drown me. It wasn't long after that we heard the children yell and cry, the fathers shout and scream. The next day I saw many of the children with blood on their shirts and knew that in the end I would be the one to pay the price for their punishment - as if this was my fault.

They waited for me when I went to a nearby pond to wash my clothes. Well, usually men and boys did not do women's work but I had no woman who would ever care for me. They taught me to do it myself, then I was on my own. If I did not want to wear smelling, dirty clothes I had to wash them. Jose did the same, since he too had no mother, grandmother, wife or daughter to do it for him. Well, the children grabbed me, threw me to the ground and beat me. They beat the shit out of me. Literally.

What? Yes, I know, I am using vulgar language again. But that is what happened. There was nothing I could do except cleaning my clothes and returning to the camp with wet trousers. Well, it was a hot summer day and I did not catch a cold.

No, I did not tell anyone. You think I was keen to be mocked as scaredy-pants for the next weeks? Do you think I wanted to give them even more ideas to torment me? Having horse shit thrown in my face had been bad enough - I didn't need something worse. What? Horse-droppings isn't that bad. There are much worse things in the world than horse-droppings. Forget it. Forget I ever mentioned it.

Now, where was I? O yes, the gypsies and their meals. I had to sit with them when we had our meals, this was something very important to the gypsies. They insisted that everyone would sit together and share all meals. I do not know why but to them this was really important. Even Jose and I had to be there, although we always kept some distance.

Did I think my life was bad? No, actually not. Yes, I was more or less a slave. But what had being free brought me? It had nearly killed me, I had been all alone, starving, cold, ill - and now I had clothes, I had food and yes, they made sure I would not fall ill for they wanted me to sing and play the violin. So I was not cold. Of course there were more than enough days when I had to go to bed supperless or hungry. But whenever they had food, I got my share. The first ones not to eat were young men. Then the old ones, women and children got the most. In that I guess I was seen as a child, for even when women didn't get food I still got a few bites. In that I cannot speak ill of the gypsies. Certainly not. I often did not get enough, yes, but then the entire tribe was hungry too. So... well, no, when it came to the basic needs of life they took care I got my share without having to fight for it.

Actually I think my life was quite a good one. I had everything I needed - food, shelter, clothing - and I had Jose as my teacher. I had music, that wonderful violin - of course the violin was not mine, but I was allowed to play it - and the occasional beatings were not that bad, the children made sure they did not hurt me so I would not be able to perform and the adults beat me for disobedience, for refusing to work and - yes, I have to admit that I did this - for bullying younger children.

What? Did you think I was above doing that? I was not the youngest and not the weakest one, so of course I let out my frustration on the weaker ones. I beat them, pushed them face down in the dirt or forced them to take off their pants and run back to the camp without them. I forced them to eat earthworms and I noticed that the more I was cruel to them, the less I got beaten myself. I found my place in the social hierarchy among the children - as long as I entertained the ones that were stronger than me with bullying the weaker ones, I would not too often be on the receiving end of the beatings. Yes, I deserved every punishment I got from their parents, but whenever I got punished I would take my revenge on them, so they learned - as I had earlier - that snitching is no good idea.

Yes, Mother Nature is a vicious old hag. Haha.

The shows? Yes, of course they went on. But it is amazing what one can get used to. Like a whore who gets used to have a horde of stinking, disgusting men banging her every day I got used to being stared at in delighted horror. It was my job to be stared at. I did it, then I got out of my cage and got on with my life. The next day the same. And the day after, and the day after that... Well, one can get used to everything if it is necessary for one's survival.

Sorry for the vulgar language. But I think my normal language does not do credit to my feelings now. It is hard to describe something so disgusting and humiliating in a polite and educated language. I never learned how a gentleman would swear - Jose never did that, he never showed any anger, he was far too composed for that.

And then there was that fateful night in late autumn. I do not know where exactly we were - somewhere between France and Germany, I think, for most people spoke both languages. It was a more or less normal show in a village. We didn't earn much, the weather was bad and all of us were frustrated for we knew we would be hungry that night. The hyena was fed a stinking dead cadaver we had found somewhere and I envied her for she could eat rotting trash that would have made me sick. We were asleep when the night guard suddenly gave alarm.

You see, the gypsies always had one of the younger men or elder boys keeping watch in the night. This was necessary to protect the camp. The alarm was just him whistling. It woke everyone up and within moments all of them lit candles and torches and ran to him. The men from the village were there, even a few of their women, and someone accused "the Beastman" to have raped a girl in the village. Of course this was not true. Jose had been in his cage for the performances, then we had sat together in our caravan and he had read a story to me in German to help me learn that language. He had not been at the town.

But they did not believe the gypsies that their "Beastman" was absolutely tamed and well confined in his cage. While some men argued with the townspeople all others started to pack up in a hurry. We needed to be away as soon as possible. It was "torches and pitchforks" and that could get us killed. A woman suggested that Jose took a horse and fled, luring them away from the camp to give the slow caravans and horse-drawn carts time to escape. It did not work well, no matter how hard Jose tried to get their attention, they didn't go after him, they set fire to the large tent. I was worried about my dear co-stars, the animal oddities, they were still in their cages except the dog, who who was running with the other dogs of the camp, barking and snarling at the townspeople. The tent was on fire and I unlocked the cages, the goat, the goanna, and I set the hyena free. Maybe that was stupid for she was really dangerous, but I liked her too much to let her burn.

The hyena ran from the flames and attacked one man, I do not even know if it was a man from the village or a gypsy, it was just a constant fighting and fleeing, someone grabbed me, snatched away my mask and then I remember being thrown to the ground and beaten with large wooden sticks. I thought I was going to die when I passed out. The fire, the screams, the beating, the pain, the chaos - hell could be no worse.

I woke to a grey dawn. It was raining and I saw fog, smelled the stench of smoke and ashes, of blood and excrement. I tried to move and the pain in my body forced me to lay still. I groaned and glanced around. The hyena was lying close to me, she was dead, her head chopped off and she looked like they had killed her with pitchforks. I guess I was lucky that they hadn't done that to me. The dog was dead too as were most of the dogs. The goanna had not escaped the flames, it had been too cold and so it wasn't able to move fast enough. The goat was alive, it had already been captured by a gypsy woman. There were gypsies searching for whatever goods they could save from the destruction. The tent, the cages and three caravans were destroyed but somehow the other caravans and the carts had escaped. Now there were only some gypsies back to pick up whatever they could.

I groaned in pain as I tried to sit up, I was alive and was afraid they would leave me there. When they saw me move they picked me up and someone placed me on his horse and got on it behind me. I do not remember much of the ride, my left arm was broken as was my left leg and once the horse fell into trod I fainted from the pain.

I woke in one of the larger caravans that now was a makeshift sickbay. I was lying on the floor, close to the small metal stove.

Yes, they had small metal stoves in the wooden caravans. Yes, as an architect I would strongly advise against such a carelessness for the danger of a fire was high, but nothing like that ever happened. They knew what they were doing, they had lived like that for generations.

There were others who had been injured and most of them were sleeping now. I heard the two old women who cared for us talking silently. I did not understand everything, my Romanese was not that good at that time, but I understood that the tribe had lost their means to earn their livelihood and they were desperate. Several men had been injured and some women had been raped. The married women were "lucky" to be able to pretend it had not happened to avoid the shame and disgrace but the problem was one girl, she was only twelve and not yet married. They could not give her to the intended groom, no matter how badly they needed the bride price now, for she was no virgin. I kept silent, pretending to be asleep, as I heard them talk about joining another tribe who would be willing to help them for they were somehow related.

Days later I learned that Jose too had escaped and met the others at some "meeting point".

We lived on stealing and begging then for there was nothing else the tribe could do. I was useless with my broken arm and leg, all I could do was lying in the caravan, hoping I would heal fast. As soon as I was able to move my arm again, one of the old women showed me how to knit socks and crochet panholders the women could sell. It was the only work I could do at that time. I remember being constantly hungry and cold, soon I had a nasty cough, and the woman who cared for me yelling at me and beating me for working too slowly. Since they were no longer able to draw in crowds with only the goat, Jose and me - and I could not sing or play the violin now - without the cages, the tent, the healer's shop and the tinker's there was not much money to be made.

What? Why are you laughing? You can't imagine me sitting at a fire knitting? Yes, I know this is no work for a man, but actually I liked it. What? Stop laughing! Stop it, right now!

Thanks.

Why is it so funny to think that I am able to care for myself? I can sew, I can knit, I can make my own clothes from thrown away rags and leftover fabric and I can repair my clothes. I simply had to. Of course now I just buy them. But then I was poor, I had to learn how to survive and the gypsies taught me and for that I will always be thankful.

It was winter when they met the other tribe they wanted to join. I have no idea how they found each other, the clans are travelling all over Europe but they tracked them down and met them. Then I saw how they were welcomed. They were greeted as honoured guests, they weren't treated like beggars who should be thankful they got the leftovers. No. They were taken in as if this was the most natural thing in the world. I had never seen a group of impoverished people being taken in with such a warmth and given everything they needed with open hands - an that from another tribe who certainly was not wealthy. They were poor themselves, they had so little but what little they had they shared warmhearted without any envy. They would have given even more, but "my" tribe refused whatever they did not find absolutely necessary.

The other tribe had a travelling fair but they were specialized to entertain families with children. And they thought that the goat and I were not suitable for their happy-go-lucky fair. They wanted everything sugarcoated and nice. Jose was given a co-star, the young girl who was cleaned and given a beautiful dress, and they were announced as "Beauty and the Beast". Well, they had their new place in life.

So the goat and I were sold to a travelling circus for one of their large tents. I did not want to leave Jose, I clung to him with all my strength, grasped his left leg with my arms and legs and cried I didn't want to leave him. But they needed me at my best behaviour to bargain for the price. They could not beat me into submission or it would ruin the price. And I did not want to leave Jose, even as he tried to persuade me to do so. I did not want it, despite all the cruel little pranks I had played on him I loved my gentle teacher.

Jose told me that it was absolutely necessary for the survival of the tribe that I accepted my fate and went with the circus. I do not know how long I was fighting and screaming, Jose patiently enduring my temper tantrum, until I broke down sobbing, my strength failing, I could not go on fighting. He took me in his arms and allowed me to weep in his soft fur of his breast. His fur was so soft, seldom have I felt such soft fur. It felt much like a cat's. Finally he said: "Erik, you are a very brave boy and I will never forget you as you will never forget me. But this is not our decision. Please, do not make it harder on us. Look, they are giving us a circus tent for you - a circus tent! We need that badly. You save all of us from starving if you do behave and be a good boy and go with them."

"Is a tent worth more than four horses?" I asked miserably.

"Much more, Erik, such a tent is worth an elephant and an elephant is worth at least eight horses," Jose answered gently.

My worth had increased twofold in just one year. But this time I was not proud, I was sad because I did not want to leave Jose. It was late that night that I finally accepted my fate and resigned.

So when I was shown to the circus people, I was at my best behaviour, polite, friendly, charming, as Jose had taught me to act. I did this for him, I knew he was watching and I wanted to make him proud of me. I sang when they told me to, I played the violin and when they asked me to take off my mask I did so without any complaints. When they asked me what else I could do I told them that I could take care of almost any animal, I would love to help with their horses. The deal was made and I was led away by a young woman. She took me to a caravan that was about two meters in breadth and six meters in length. It had four small rooms of two meters in length and one and a half in breadth. One of these small rooms was to be mine. I had nothing but a blanket as furniture.

I still had that cough and they gave me herbal tea to help me. They needed me healthy for their circus show. I do not know why but they were in their winter quarters and would stay there until spring, preparing for the new season and the new show. And I was to be part of them, so they would find me something more than just playing the violin and showing my face. They were no sideshow, they were a real circus and they were proud of it.

What? It is so late? I'm sorry, my friend, for keeping you up all night. I have to go now, I can't risk being seen. Good night, or better, good morning!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Thank you for reading. This chapter took me very much research work, but I hope it was worth it. Just to make sure: What I describe the gypsies doing has nothing to do with gypsies in general, as there are so many clans with different languages and cultures and they are all called "gypsies". So if you have different experience, yes, that is likely. Of course I do not approve racism. But it happened, and it still happens. And gypsies are killed just because they are gypsies. Even in our time._


	3. Circus

**HEART TO HEART CONVERSATION**

 **Circus**

Hello again, my friend. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting that long, business, you know. What? My business is my business, not yours. Stop being so nosy. I do not want to talk about the present, I want to talk about my childhood.

What was the last thing I told you? O yes, that I was sold to a circus. Well...

The circus people were different from the gypsies. There were gypsies among them, but most of them were diddicoys, travelling people who had no gypsy heritage. They would not just show exotic animals, although they had a tent with some animals like the four horned goat now, but they had a show, a large tent, I had never seen such a large tent before. There was one big cage in the middle, filling a large part of the tent. This cage was the stage for their shows, the audience would gather around. And they had some show acts that needed even more space, they could only be done when the weather was good.

In winter they would not travel at all, right now they were in their winter quarters preparing the show for the next season. The winter quarters was an isolated farmstead, the farmer was a gypsy.

Yes, I too was surprised, but not all gypsies were travelling. In fact, most of them had settled down, found their place in normal society and lived like anyone else, most of them in normal jobs. Some of them even rejected their gypsy culture and denied being gypsies to avoid mistrust and hatred. Yes, some of them even had respectable careers. And this one had married the widow of a farmer, becoming a farmer himself. But he provided a place to stay for the circus in winter, of course he got his payment for that.

I was introduced to the others, then they discussed what they could use me for. I do not know why but one of the sideshow performers, an old woman who acted as fortune teller and pretended to be a gypsy witch, took me under her wing now. She was highly respected and somehow the matriarch of the circus people. She wasn't even a gypsy, she was Italian but she had run away and married a gypsy when she was about fourteen. Now she was older than seventy, had long grey hair and no teeth. She looked every inch a witch, she could have been the model for fairy tale books. But she was friendly, even to me. Her name was Angelica and to me she was an angel. Of course her fortune-teller-tent had a sign with "Madame Alyssa" and not her real name. When the circus was open we would have to address each other with our stage-names.

Where was I? O yes, Angelica arranged it for me to get a private show. They allowed me to watch their rehearsals once before they would decide what my show act would be. Of course it would include music and my face, that much was for sure, but they wanted me to do more. They promised to teach me. I was no longer naive enough to believe they would teach me for my own good - no, I knew perfectly well that they were doing it to increase the profit they would make with me. But there was nothing I could do against this. So I sat with Angelica outside of the cage and watched the rehearsals.

They had a clown, I really liked his show. His name was Karl, he was German. He had four dogs, four small, tubby dogs with fawn fur and a wrinkled black face and a curled up tail. Pugs. I liked them, they were friendly and made funny noises all the time. They played "School" - the clown as the teacher tried to educate the pugs which were sitting on tiny benches and tiny tables. They were the bad boys and always played pranks on their teacher. A very funny pantomime, I laughed heartily. When I saw him I asked Angelica if I could become a clown.

They had "Frederic's Flying Familiy", they were really a family, tightrope artists. They were fantastic and I watched them open mouthed.

Then there were the "dancing gypsies" - they were not really gypsies - an old man who played the violin and his three daughters dancing. They were good, but dancing women were rather boring to me, I had just turned nine. But I liked the music the violinist played. They were from India, I learned later that they had left India for they were Pariahs and hoped for a better future in a country that did not know caste division. Well, there was a certain caste division in Europe as well, but not as strict as in India. But they called themselves "gypsies" for if they had said "India" the audience would expect belly dance which they did not want to do. They danced mainly Csardas, Csardas is music from Hungary, often played by gypsies. The violinist was great, it is a shame he was just playing in a circus and not a concert hall - but with his background he would never be welcome in any opera house. So much for caste division.

I absolutely adored the Hungarian rider. He had five stallions, all of them bareback with just holster and reigns. They ran as if they were tied together, three in the first line, two in the second. The rider stood on the two stallions in the second line with one foot at each horse, he held the reigns of all five horses at full gallop. But that was his show for outside - in the cage he had the five horses run round and he would jump from one to the other. I begged Angelica to be allowed to become a rider. I would do anything to ride like he did.

The strongman was rather boring, he was just strong - lifting different weights, to me at that time this was not interesting. The snake-woman was more to my liking, she could move her body as if she had no bones in it.

And their magician - he was absolutely creepy and I was scared of him. His show was good, really, but at that time I thought it just scary and had problems not to cry. I held back my tears, I was almost ten and at that age a boy does not cry. I did not like the magician, I thought him frightening.

There were more people, but the others were not so noticeable - and of course there were the helpers who did their work in the background, the confectionist selling sweets, the cook selling his foods, the helpers with the animals of the sideshow and the horses for the carriages, the two tinkers who could make almost everything, well, there were a lot more people than just those one saw in the shows. They even had a bookkeeper who would collect the entrance fee and made sure the fees were payed. He was married to the snake-woman, maybe that's why a book-keeper traveled with a circus.

After the rehearsal they discussed what I would be fit for. The clown said with my face I was too scary to be a clown. I reasoned that I could wear a clown-mask but they had wanted me for my face so I would not be a clown. The tightrope artists told me that it took years of hard training to become an artist and I would have to earn my keeping from the first day. The horse rider said his act was a one-man-show, but if I would help with his horses he would teach me a few tricks. Work for riding lessons - yes, that was something I liked. Well, to cut a long story short I ended up as second violinist for the "Dancing Gypsies" and as the magician's apprentice. I was angry and sad. The two shows I disliked most were the ones I would have to participate. Poor me. But I had no saying in that. I was just a child and I was considered to be too young to be able to make any decision myself.

My work started right then. The violinist gave me his violin and told me to play. I played the Csardas he had played before and everyone just stared at me. Of course I was nowhere perfect, there were many mistakes, but it was clearly recognizable the same piece of music.  
"Have you ever played that one before?" the violinist asked me astonished and I shook my head. He tested me, he would play something, then tell me to play it. I did what I could, until the limit of my skills showed. I was ashamed and afraid they would punish me for my incompetence now but they did not.  
"How old are you?" Angelica asked.  
"Nearly ten," I answered. I did not want to admit that I was just nine years old.  
"How nearly?" she inquired, obviously used to boys wanting to be older.  
"Only eleven month," I answered much to their amusement. I guess my young age saved me from punishment, in fact, they wondered how I could be that good at my age.

The magician was not happy with me either. He had two girls as his "lovely assistant" - they were twins, almost identical, and only one of them would be seen at the same time, he played many tricks with them - and his old assistant had been a hunchback who was now too old and clumsy to assist him. He didn't want a boy. So we sat there in his caravan, I curled up in one corner, he on his bed, and he glared at me while I tried not to cry. I was really scared of him. It took some time until he finally said: "Okay, it seems we both have no choice now. So - here are my rules. You do what I tell you exactly as I tell you. Each mistake will be punished. Understood?" I nodded, to scared to say anything.

And so my education began. My days were long and often I was so tired I fell asleep sitting at the fire when we had our meals together. I had to brush the horses, clean their stable - or tent, when we were on the road again - then we had breakfast and immediately after that I had to work with the magician. His instructions were often not clear and it took me some time - and many painful lashes - to understand that I wasn't to do what he actually said but what he meant to say. This was difficult to tell and we were both frustrated. Plus, he wanted pinpoint precision. When we were rehearsing I was to hold out my hand and he suddenly said: "That is two lashes."  
I asked him why, this time my timing was allright, and he told me that my hand was two centimeters too low and I was standing five centimeters too far to the right. Well, precision. I guess he was the one to beat precision into me, literally. After every rehearsal I had to take off my clothes, go down on my knees and endure the punishment.

Then we had lunch. Immediately after lunch I was to feed the horses, then go to the violinist and practice. Practice until my fingers bled and my arms, shoulders and back arched and I could no longer hold the violin. At least he did not beat me for every mistake - I would not have survived THAT. I was just a nine year old child, even if I was a child prodigy, I was far from being a virtuoso. And even a virtuoso needs to practice regularly or he would lose his skill.

When I was already tired and my body arching I had to do the work of a housewife - for me and the magician. I was his assistant and he expected me to fill the role of his hunchbacked servant. But I was not him, I could not fill the role of his friend. I was just a boy. A boy who had to participate in a show so gruesome and scary they advised women, children and sick people to leave the tent before the magician's show. Yes, I too was scared, even if I knew how the tricks worked. Some of them were dangerous, especially those with knives and fire, so I understood his demand for absolute precision, any mistake could cost me a finger, a toe or even a limb. Or it could cost one of the twins her life for they used a real guillotine for the trick with the "decapitated virgin". I admit that once I knew the reason for the severe punishment I got for every mistake I made, I no longer hated him for that. He had no choice - the risk was too high.

But then I was allowed half an hour riding lesson and sometimes I just fled to the clown's caravan, curled up on the floor with his four dogs. Karl, the clown, was a very sad man. He was lonely, he never approached anyone. He perceived himself as unworthy of any love, unskilled, stupid, useless and ugly. I did not understand that. He was a great clown, he could cheer everyone up, even make the usually grumpy magician laugh sometimes. I took off my mask and showed him my face, told him that I would give my life to have one day looking like him, but he just said that compared to him I was not ugly. I think he was kind of mad, how could a perfectly normal looking man see himself as uglier than me? But he was always there when I needed to just lie down and cuddle his dogs. He would not talk much, he just let me pet his dogs, that was enough to comfort me.

When we had dinner I often fell asleep and Angelica had to wake me up and tell me to eat or I would have spend all night sitting there with a full bowl of stew. Their stew was different from normal stew, it contained so many hot spices at first I had trouble eating it, then I got the runs and after three weeks I got used to it. Angelica pointed out that hot spices protected us from worms which sometimes lived in the stomach of men.

Many boys my age want to stay up late in the night - I only wished I could go to bed early for I never got enough sleep.

Actually my life was not worse than the other's. Everyone had to practice, rehearse, perform his or her show-act. Everyone was working from early in the morning to late in the night. But in this circus we were seldom hungry and that was something I liked.

I had three costumes. One for my playing the second violin in the "Dancing Gypsies" act, I was dressed like a gypsy - or what "normal" people believed to be a gypsy garb - and wear a black mask. When my skill with the violin became better, I even got my own "Devil's Violinist" piece, usually I would play something while the helpers were redecorating the stage or cleaning up if one of the animals - especially those from the sideshow-menagerie - had pooped. I was the perfect diversion because I needed no extra preparation. I would just put on my "Devil's Violinist" red velvet mask and cover whatever clothes I was wearing with a dark red velvet gown and could start immediately.

When the magician, his name was Ivan, he was Russian, made me his assistant he came up with another background story for me. He too pretended to be a gypsy and told that he had dug up my corpse in Romania and through his ancient magic reviewed me and made me his slave. I was the "Living Corpse" now. I did not like that. The first act was him showing a seemingly empty casket, then close it and I would climb out of it when he re-opened it. I had my face bared and wore nothing but ragged trousers to heighten my corpse-like appearance. I hated the screams, the gasps, the retching and the fainting women when we did this trick. And then the show would just begin, with all gruesome tricks, the decapitated virgin, the smashed hand, the fire-tricks - o yes, I got burned often during the rehearsals before I learned to do the assistance in this trick properly - and things like that.

What I liked best in the circus was that the other children had so many duties each day, they simply had not much time to beat me or mock me - and if they had time, they were often too tired to beat me and just left it at mocking me and spitting at me.

Until one day when I was working on some new prop for Ivan. He needed six identical props and I was to burn the decoration into the leather with a branding iron. So I was at the tinker's tent, there was a stove where I had build a fire to heat the iron. It was a warm day in spring and I had taken off mask, shirt and shoes because the heat in the tent was close to unendurable. Fifteen children lived with the circus, me not included. They all had a break at the same time and that usually was not good for me. They came into the tent and asked what I was doing. I told them, hoping their fear of Ivan would protect me at least as long as I worked on the leather for his props. They gathered around me and asked why I was doing that. I told them that I had no idea why Ivan wanted leather with these decorations.

Soon they started pushing me. Whenever I was heating the branding iron, they started pushing me until I was angry and lashed out on them with the iron, it was not red hot at that time for I just needed to heat it again. They cleared a path so I could go to the stove to heat the iron again. While I was using the bellows they started pinching and pushing me again.  
"Look how he's sweating."  
"Disgusting"  
"He's not sweating - that's ptomaine!" They laughed but did not stop pushing me. I kept silent and tried to ignore them, I already knew any protests on my part would only encourage them. When the iron was red hot again, I grabbed its handle and went back to where the leather was stretched in a wooden frame. Someone pushed me from the left side, I had the iron in the right hand, and someone pushed from the right side at the same time, a horrible pain shot through my arm and I threw the branding iron to the ground and grabbed my left wrist. The red hot iron had left a deep burn, but only with the edge of the stamp so it looked like a line. I did not scream, did not cry out, I just stared at the wound and smelled the stench of the burned flesh. The others suddenly left me alone as if nothing had happened.

I picked up the branding iron, heated it again and went on with my work until it was done and Ivan came to fetch the leather. I cooled the branding iron in a bucket with water, put on my mask and went to my violin lesson. My violin teacher was the first one to notice my wound, he asked me how this happened and I told him. He took me to the well and told me to cool it with water, which I did and went away.

It was not long after that that Angelica came to look for me. She took me to her tent and applied a salve to the wound, telling me that I was lucky for the red hot iron had not gone deep enough to damage the nerves, the veins or the tendons in my wrist. I could have lost the functionality of my left hand if it had gone only few millimeters deeper.

The other children told that I had been clumsy and slipped. It was all an accident and they were just watching me form afar. It was one against fifteen - who would believe me? I was not a notorious liar at that time, but I was just one boy and everyone knew that I was sometimes daydreaming, not really concentrating on my work. I have to admit it could have been an accident, only I knew that it wasn't. They just told me that I must never accuse someone if it was my own fault or I would face severe punishment. As to my clumsiness they just quoted a German proverb: "Ungeschicktes Fleisch muss ab." That can be freely translated as: "Clumsy flesh has to come off." I guess they did not mean that literally - they just wanted to make clear that I could never expect pity or help when I hurt myself because of my own clumsiness or carelessness.

I was on my own again. I was neither the youngest nor the weakest child, but the younger and weaker ones had elder brothers and sisters to protect them so I knew better than to threaten them. Sometimes I wished for a world without children, for they were cruel just for fun while the adults only punished me for disobeying or laziness. I didn't mind working hard, I was used to that, but the children were a real problem. Plus a bit more time off would have been nice. I would have loved to play like any other child sometimes. Well, one cannot have everything.

I never knew where we were when we traveled. Usually everyone had to work all day long and we never entered the villages or cities but stayed in the fairgrounds in the outskirts. I wasn't allowed to leave the camp alone, they told me it was too dangerous and I accepted that explanation for I knew it to be true. I had seen what had happened to the gypsies when Jose had falsely been accused of rape - if I was caught in a village, even if I did nothing, what would they do to me and the circus people?

Yes, I traveled the world - but in that first year with the circus, I saw nothing but roads and fairgrounds. Germany, France, Spain... well, fairgrounds and roads, and I do not even remember all landscapes for when we were travelling either Angelica or Ivan continued my language lessons so I had not much time to admire a landscape. I had to concentrate on grammar and vocabulary.

Well, the shows were not that humiliating - of course they were, but now I was more or less an actor like the twins who pretended to be just one girl. And after some time I had no pride or modesty left. You see, we did not have the luxury of toilets or bathrooms - when we had to relieve ourselves, we had to use the next field to do so. Sometimes there were no trees or bushes, nothing to hide, we had no choice. I say "we" because everyone in the circus faced that problem. When we wanted to wash or have a bath we used a river or sometimes a pond or a lake - whatever water we could find. There was not enough time to have different bathing times for men and women, whoever wanted a bath had to get out of his or her clothes and do so, no matter who else was in the water. They would always make sure no outsiders would see us, but among the circus people there was no modesty or shame. And I had no choice but to adjust. I always tried to stay close to the adults for I knew the children would try to dunk me and I was afraid of drowning.

It was Karl who taught me the basics of swimming and he gave me one very valuable advice: If someone tries to dunk you, grab his neck and hold onto it for dear life - he will let go of you once you pull him underwater with you. Yes, that really helped much, after I started to defend myself they didn't dunk me that often and if, it was just one short dunk and then they left me alone.

We traveled to the west, through France, because they wanted to spend the winter in Spain where it was warm enough to work through the winter.

Spain was... different. I did speak a bit Spanish then, enough to get through a show and not miss my clues when Ivan said them in Spanish and not in French. But I had to learn too many languages at the same time, I always mixed them and became confused. So sometimes I would speak Italian with German grammar and mix it with Spanish... And the other children, who had grown up with many different languages from birth mocked me as stupid.

Spain... Spain is a different culture than France. I can't say I didn't like them, they are just... different. But we made good money there. Except in the city where a bullfight was. The Spanish are obsessed with bullfights, I do not know why. What is so interesting in killing a bull in the most ineffective way?

But we needed money, so we came up with a different idea. Since no one would visit the circus, we would visit the bullfight and try to earn a little bit around the arena. Well, if I say "we" I mean the people whose opinion really mattered in the circus, that was Angelica, Karl and Istvan, the horse-rider. The others had no opinion or if they had, they would not dare to tell it. It was decided that Ivan would dress like any Spanish man would and be the pickpocket, Karl and I would wear clown masks and do a simple but funny pantomime, the twins would dress like gypsies and collect money from people who watched Karl and me. I was excited, I had always wanted to be a clown and now I could be one - with a papier-mache mask with a clown face paining on it. Karl said I was quite good as a clown, I easily understood how to make a fool of myself to make others laugh.

Yes, I agree that it is strange that I loved to be a clown. One might think being mocked and humiliated so often had extinguished any interest in making others laugh, but it wasn't like that. If I wanted to make them laugh, I was the one in control of the situation. It is not humiliating if the audience laughs at a clown, in that case, laughing is like applause. Ivan was the thief of our team and if we were to be caught Karl, I and the twins would have to say we didn't know him, never saw him. He would say the same. The interests of the group always overrule the interests of a single person and they had very strict loyalty rules. Breaking them could cost one's life.

We were not caught and earned much money that day, so much, Karl decided we would watch the bullfight. We still were in our clown-costumes with the clown masks and we had to be careful for in a spectacle with the audience lusting for blood to a degree where they did not care if it was the bull's or the toreador's, everything is possible. That's why Ivan - who still was scary, even in his normal clothes - went back to the circus. Scared people tend to attack and kill whatever they are scared of. I did not like the bullfight and begged Karl to take me back before it was over. I disliked the bloody spectacle and was scared of the cheering crowd. Karl was not happy but he complied as he noticed just how panicked I already was.

And then I learned about another problem I had not been aware of before: Ivan was drunk, he was so drunk our strongman had to carry him home for he was no longer able to stand. He must have bought some alcohol and would not be able to perform the next few days. Angelica explained that Ivan sometimes had these problems. He would not drink for months - of course not, he did not have one coin in his pocket, the money was with the bookkeeper - and then drink himself into oblivion. She berated me why I had not watched him better, as if this was my duty. I did not dare to defend myself that I hadn't known anything about that.

The next day there was a circus show and Ivan was still not sober enough to do his magic show. I offered that I could at least do his "decapitated virgin" trick, for that trick mainly needed me and the twins, he was just standing there, looking menacing. Angelica decided we could do it like that, we only had to change my entrance. I could not very well review myself from the dead, now could I? So she just changed the background story and I was the magician myself. I had hoped I would be allowed to cover my face but I wasn't. Now I was announced as "the Living Corpse - a magician who manages to trick even Death himself!" Or herself. In some cultures Death is a female.

I loved it. The show was nowhere good, I was far too nervous and the audience noticed it, but it was the first show I did all alone and I managed without any grave mistakes. I really loved it. And Ivan hated it, once he was sober enough to understand what he was told. I was to be his apprentice, not a magician myself, I was only a boy, I had just turned ten years old, I could not be a magician. He was absolutely right in that, I could use his props and I could do the tricks he had taught me to do, but I was in no way able to plan my own tricks, to build my own props and to design my own show. But he needed to establish his dominance over me, forcing me to kneel down and beg his forgiveness for my audacity, even kissing his boots. I did, I would have said and done anything to avoid the beating. Again, no one helped me and I felt humiliated for having to beg his forgiveness when it was his fault that I had to take over for him.

Well, I guess the lessons I learned were very valuable. I learned that there is no justice and fairness, there is no compassion - if someone helps you, he does it in the selfish wish to get something in return. "Do ut des," as the ancient Romans said, "I give so that you give something in return." I got my living space, clothing and food - and in return I had to earn money for them.

Ivan was punished for his failure - his punishment was to teach me not only to assist him but to teach me so I could one day be a magician myself. He hated that and made the lessons hard and I got punished for every mistake, for every time I did not concentrate - and I have to admit that I was not able to concentrate two hours without my mind wandering sometimes. I was a child. But he was a great magician and what knowledge I got from him was priceless.

Winter in Spain was not as cold as in France, but it was cold nevertheless. And my shoes did not fit any longer. In summer I had been able to walk barefooted like all children, but now... My old clogs were too small and I could not use them any longer. I asked Angelica to help me. They could use the clogs for a smaller child and give me some larger shoes. And I wanted another costume for the magic show. The trousers I had as "Living Corpse" with my upper body naked wouldn't do, it was too cold, even if there was no snow. But they had no shoes for me at that time.

When we did a rehearsal, I was so cold I was happy when a horse pooped for I could step into the horse shit, it was warm and would warm up my ice-cold feet. I had seen shepherd boys doing this, they would run around barefooted all the time and of course knew the trick that fresh shit was warm. Of course the other children - who had warm socks and shoes - mocked me for that, but I was too cold to care.

It was Angelica who finally bought shoes for me. One day when we sat together having breakfast - I had some rags wrapped around my feet, but they were soaked in mud and I was cold - she just got up and handed me a pair of brown shoes, clearly second-hand, or better, tenth to twelfth hand from the looks of it. They were far too large but I did not care, I was so grateful that she had given me these shoes.

But business was bad in winter. We did not have enough money to buy food for the animals and so it was decided that the caravan I lived in was to be sold. The twins, who had two other "rooms" in that caravan, would have to live with Ivan, the fourth "room" was stuffed with props and Ivan would have to sort them out and store them in his own caravan. I would have to live with a family of the helpers.

No one was happy with that. Ivan didn't like the twins in his caravan, no matter that they were rather nice girls, the twins didn't want to live with Ivan, this I could understand, he was really scary, and the helper's family didn't want me in their caravan. But it was necessary for our survival and we had to accept this. I lost my private room, so from now on I had to sleep on the floor of the wooden caravan with the other children, the only bed was for the parents. They had five children and were working hard to get a sixth, I couldn't sleep, but I did not dare tell them to be quiet. I was utterly disgusted by what I saw and heard each night, but in winter it was too cold to sleep outside so I had little choice. I needed a warm place to stay. But everything turned for the worse for me for the children tried to freeze me out. Of course this was in vain, I had nowhere else to go, but they surely knew how to make my life miserable.

The children had the cruel idea of taking advantage of me when I was having a wash in a small pond. I was naked and freezing when I came out of the water but it had been necessary to clean myself. In winter no one would wash when it could be avoided - but my skin was itching so badly, I just had to wash. Well, they waited for me, they did not let me get dressed, they held me down and pushed a naked girl against me. I do not know which one yelled louder - I still had my mother's words in my head that touching me was so horrible, a woman could die from terror and I was scared the girl would die. She was utterly disgusted and scared, I can't even say I didn't understand her in that moment. Well, the other children found that extremely funny and tied us together with strong ropes. Our screams and struggles must have alarmed the adults for they came and helped us to get away from each other.

But instead of berating the other children for their cruel joke I was the one who got the punishment. The girl was Frederic's youngest daughter and he was furious - with me, as if I had wanted this! I didn't even have time to get dressed, I was still naked as he whipped me with his belt. He made sure only to hit my legs for my upper body, my head and my arms were visible at the shows so I had to be unharmed. The magic show was supposed to be gruesome, but not so gruesome as to see real blood.

Then I had to kneel before the girl and beg her forgiveness. I did what I was told to do, I had no choice.

That night I asked Karl if I could sleep in his caravan and he allowed it. So I slept on the floor of his caravan with his four pugs, they were snoring and drooling and farting, but that did not matter - they were warm, cuddly and I could hold them, pet them, they loved me and I really loved them. They were really great comfort and finally Karl gave in to my whining and took me in - on the condition that I would work for him if he told me to. Since the twins had to care for Ivan's household now, I was free to accept that offer. Karl called his pugs little bunches of joie de vivre and that's what they really were.

In spring we traveled back on another route through France to Austria and then to Italy, North-Italy. I do not know why, it was decided to do so, it didn't really matter to me.

That spring Ivan really started to teach me the basics of magic. Ivan was a tall man with blonde hair, almost white, and ice-blue eyes. His name as magician was "Professor Abraxas". He told me that magic could be used for everything, there were clown-magicians, dancing magicians, magic shows with music, even erotic magic shows, large magic tricks for stages, some had to be done outdoor, and then there was close-up magic, where the magician would use small props and stay very close to his audience, often sit at the same table with them. The audience never knew if a trick was easy or hard, the size of the show didn't tell anything of the magicians skill - sometimes a close-up card trick could be much more difficult than a large show. Well, I thought that erotic magic shows would be utterly disgusting, but a clown-magician should be fun. Ivan told me that his teacher had been an elegant magician who even had his own theater and worked for nobility at their parties, these magicians were pretending to be noblemen themselves, often with fake titles like "Count" or "Chevallier".

Ivan himself had decided to be a scary. He did not look scary, he was an average looking man of average size. I once asked him why and he told me that he found clowns scary, especially Karl. Ivan thought Karl was mad and creepy. Ivan's decision to be a creepy magician was just a business decision. He did what the audience wanted and he gave me the good advise to follow his example. I could be a clown magician, but I would never earn as much as I could as a frightening magician, just because of my looks. My ugliness was the advantage. Magic was all about being something special, being something no one else could be. So I would have to use my ugliness to my advantage. Wearing a clown mask and making people laugh was all good and well, but not the one knack that would guarantee my income - being the "Living Corpse" was. That was something no one else could be, no one else could show.

Now that I knew why they were doing this to me, I was in no way contend being a magicians apprentice. Ivan was still scary and he liked to make his audience scream in delighted terror - I hated that, I would have loved to make them laugh instead. Like Karl did.

Yes, Ivan was right, Karl was a bit mad - he thought himself useless, unimportant, stupid, worthless and ugly when he was normal-looking, clever, charming and respected by everyone. He must have been mad when he thought himself uglier than me. He was always so very sad, but while he was sad, he could cheer everyone up, he even made me laugh when I was in despair. He even taught me how to make others laugh, how to deliberately make a fool of myself just to make others laugh.

What fascinated me most was how similar Ivan, Karl and Angelica worked - they would watch their audience closely, listen to them carefully and analyze every tiny movement. As fortune teller Angelica - Madame Alyssa - was really great. Her augury would always come true.

Yes, that is a trick I can reveal. Whatever she used - cards, crystal ball, tea leaves, the flickering of a candle, the palm of the hand - at first she would greet her guest and make him or her comfortable, give him or her something to drink, usually a glass of red wine. Alcohol dulled the thinking a bit and made people more trusting. Then she would start with something obvious, I'll give you an example: "You are a young man and I sense that there is a very important question troubling you and now you wish my knowledge of the future to make the right decision." Well, if it is a man or a woman you see with your eyes and if someone enters a fortune-tellers tent of course he or she wants to get some fortune-telling. Usually that's when people start to talk and you can gain much information about people if you listen to what they say and what they do NOT say. If the young man ask if he would pass the test at school, she would answer: "Studiousness will be rewarded." Well, that cannot be wrong, can it? If he does not pass, he will think it was his fault, if he will pass, the fortune teller was right too.

If there are no real questions and they just want some general fortune telling, she would always say something positive, like: "Right now you face difficulties but you will overcome them." This can't be wrong, everyone faces difficulties all the time. And most of them can be solved - one way or the other. Or she would say: "A brown haired woman will influence your life." Well, save guess, most women in Middle Europe have some kind of brown hair and so the chances that one would not meet a woman with brown hair are rather low. And of course one of those women will affect that man's life - and if it is the seamstess that repairs his shirts or his mother, sister, whatever.

She would never answer with "yes" or "no" and of course if a woman asked if her child was going to be a girl or a boy she would say that the child would be be beautiful for every woman sees her child as "beautiful". Well, she changed that to "extraordinary" when she saw me...

And that is the main trick - react, not act. Of course you can't do that in a magic show in a circus, only in close-up magic. In a circus you have to use other tricks, like fooling people's senses and brains. It is astonishing how easily people are distracted simply because they assume something they did not see - and then they are surprised that something else happened. Some tricks are pure physics or chemistry, some are slight of hand tricks, some simple diversion.

Yes, I know, I ramble on in my speech.

Well, we traveled through south of France and came to Italy. I did not care much for I still was not allowed or able to see anything but the road and the fairgrounds. Well, and the landscape, but... I guess I was too young to enjoy a beautiful landscape, I didn't give it much thought.

Since Frederick's oldest son was the main force behind the torment I endured at the hands of the children, I got an idea how to take a little revenge. Ivan taught me a chemical trick how to make powder that would inflame when in contact with water. He only made small amounts of them and that only just before the performance for it was really dangerous and he didn't want to set a tent or a caravan aflame by accident. But I managed to steal a little bit. That night I climbed up to the tightrope high above the circus ring and put a bit of it on the tightrope. The next morning Frederik and his children would rehearse a new show act and I knew that usually they were sweating profusely during their performance and it was a hot day in Italian summer. So if a bit of sweat dropped onto the powder - poof - a small flame would shoot up and spook them.

The next morning I was helping building up the cage as the trick went off, too soon, no one was on the tightrope. I can only guess that this was due to the humidity or condensation. Whatever it was, the rope was aflame, threatening to set the tent itself aflame. I remember yelling in fear, I had not planned for this, I had thought a small "poof", a small flame and it would be over, but obviously I strongly miscalculated. I do not know how but Frederik was already up at the ladder and loosened the end of the tightrope while his son did the same on the other end, the burning rope fell to the sand of the circus ring and when someone tried to extinguish the fire with water, it only burned higher.

Ivan just shoveled sand on the rope, this did extinguish the fire.

And suddenly all stared at me. I was already crying and trembling, no longer able to hide my fear, but I hoped they would think this just as the shock of what had happened. Well, I was stupid. A stupid child, of course Ivan knew this was not an accident and since no one except him and me knew the formula for the powder... well, I had no time to react. I was grabbed and my hands tied up to the metal bars of the cage around the circus ring, my hands high above my head, my legs dangling so I didn't reach the ground.

"You could have killed all of us!" was the first sentence I heard.  
"It wasn't me," I cried, but they did not believe me. "I never wanted to harm anyone!" Well, this made them only angrier. I remember that I was beaten with whatever they had in their hands, belts, tools, fists. I have no recollection of who participated in the beating, who said what or if anyone spoke in my favor. I screamed in pain and begged for mercy, pleading with them to spare my life. Then everything went black.

I woke in a room of a house, a real house made of bricks. I was lying on a bed. When I tried to move I was immediately stopped by the pain in my body. Every fibre of my body was aflame in pain.

"Do you know me?" I heard Angelica's voice.  
"Angelica?" I asked, confused.  
"Very good. Can you see me?"  
I forced my swollen eyes open and looked at her. I could see her with both eyes. She grabbed me and pulled me up to a half-sitting position, then started to give me water with a spoon. I was thirsty and opened my mouth as wide as possible to get more water. My jaw was swollen and I had lost a back tooth, the others were a bit loose, maybe they shifted.

The next time I woke up I was in her caravan. I was lying on a soft mattress on the floor and I must have woken because the mattress was wet. It was just one of those days. I groaned and stayed were I was, I could barely move. I must have fallen asleep again for I woke when Angelica asked me if I could stand up she had to clean up my mess. She was angry with me and I was too weak and hurt too much to care about the humiliation. While she cleaned up she berated me for my carelessness. No one believed it was really attempted murder, they believed my story that it was just a childish prank that could have gone terribly wrong. But she made clear that my punishment was not over yet and it was well-deserved. I could have killed the tightrope-artists, I could have set the tent aflame, if something had happened during a performance the police could have all of us arrested.

I wept when it finally sunk in just how dangerous the situation had been. But what they did to me was too much punishment to just accept it. They nursed me to health, then they decided that I would get a daily reminder of my misdeed for months. That was, I got beaten each day, only a few lashes, so I would not be hurt seriously but I would be reminded that I had done wrong. I thought this punishment was too hard. And then something else came to my mind: It was not even my fault. It was their children's. If I would not suffer constantly at their hands, I would never even have had any idea like that.

Since I did not share my thoughts with anyone, no one could talk me out of that idea. It was easier for me to accept that they were cruel and unjust than to admit that this had been my own fault and the severe punishment that left scars all over my body was well deserved. Only years later I realized just how dangerous my "little harmless prank" had been.

And the children had a new game. They would taunt me and ask me to attack them. They did not attack, they just tried to get me to attack them. One even handed me a knife and held out his hand, daring me to cut off one of his fingers or ram the knife through his palm. I stood there, the knife in my hand, the other boys outstretched left hand hovering before me, and did - nothing. I debated with myself if I should go through with it or not, but I knew for sure that they would deny doing anything to me and I would be punished again. I dropped the knife, feeling deeply humiliated and shamed by my cowardice as they spit on me and mocked me. I did not defend myself then. I was too scared of the punishment.

Yes, I had no chance to escape, for I still was a child, I was just ten years old and in no way able to care for myself. What could I do? Ask someone to take me in? What answer do you think I would have gotten to this plea? If I asked the police to help me, they would just return me to my rightful owners. I was a child and as such had no rights, I had to be thankful to have some sort of roof over my head and got food to eat. Or worse, they would take me to an orphanage were even more of the cruel demons called "children" would wait for me. No, thank you. I was better off as it was then - even with the constant punishment I had to endure.

But then - not everything in Italy was bad. We went to Rome and I had the chance to see some of the really great buildings. I even saw Michelangelo's famous fresco in the Sistine Chapel. It is a wonderful piece of art, but that time it only made me sad. Every human being was pictured with a perfect face and a perfect body. I was concealed with a hooded cloak so my mask would not that easily be seen and - like other children - was more or less begging for coins. With my really thin arms and legs I must have looked really pitiable and I earned quite a lot that day. So much indeed, that it was decided that during Christmas we would not perform but just beg in Rome - Christmas was a good time for beggars.

I guess I was too young to really understand the danger I was in. I was just sitting there as a beggar in rags, trying to use my really horrible appearance once more for profit. Angelica would sit with me and I would have to tell a heartbreaking story of us as mother and child, both injured and ill and in desperate need for help. I guess I was very good in that, for we earned more money than we could have with the shows at that time. I have no idea what would have happened had anyone seen my face - I think I would have been slaughtered.

Well, in spring we turned to the north, they wanted to go back to Austria because Istvan wanted to see if some of his family were still alive, he had not seen them in five years. With that decided we made our way, slowly, always stopping for a few performances, living most of the time from hand to mouth.

I want to tell you a funny little incident before I leave you today - we were still in North Italy when a really wealthy family demanded a private show for them. Since they offered a really generous payment we complied. I do not know why but one of their boys was fascinated by the simple card tricks I could do at that time. He wanted to see one trick after the other until I had to ask Ivan for help for I did not know any more tricks. He was about my age and would have loved to come with us. I remember me laughing hysterically at the mere thought. There was a boy who had everything - a family who loved him, a nice room, a private teacher, a room full of toys and books, the most delicious food to eat his fill each day and he wanted to have my place in the circus - as cold, dirty, hungry as I was often, with all that hard work each day and the harsh punishments I had to endure regularly. Okay, that was a bit too much self-pity. I was not that hungry, truth to be told that I did not have really tasty food but I seldom suffered real hunger.

I asked him if he liked my job as whipping boy - and I did mean that literally - and lowest slave of all. If he wanted that, he would have to starve himself until he looked as bad as I and cut off his nose. I took off my mask to show him that my face was really my face and not just some mask or make-up I wore for the show. He pissed himself and ran off, this time all the circus children laughed at him and mocked him. Yes, I was a sick little bastard sometimes, but then, what was to be expected? I truly hated him for having everything and demanding even more while begrudging me what little I had.

Please do not ask me why, but that day was some sort of watershed in my standing in the circus. I do not know why but when we all stood there, laughing at that pampered little chicken running off crying like a baby girl with his wet pants I got some sort of acceptance from them. It was as if they accepted that I was one of them, one of those hardened, hard working children who had to grow up far too soon in order to survive. It was a rather good feeling, despite everything they had done to me, to be accepted. And for the first time I understood Ivan and why he had chosen to be a scary magician. I had so much enjoyed frightening that boy, suddenly I decided that Ivan was right - I was a natural at being scary, so with his teaching, I could one day even surpass him.

Well, it surely is late, my friend. I hope I did not bore you? No? Thank you, you are much too indulgent. Have a good night!

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 _Thank you for reading. I would love to get a few reviews._


	4. the Living Corpse

**HEART TO HEART CONVERSATION**

 **The Living Corpse**

Good night my friend. What do you mean, I woke you up? Ah, yes, I forgot to check my watch. I can't sleep tonight and so I decided to make a spontaneous visit to you. Sometimes I am a nuisance, you don't need to remind me. But now that I am here and you are already awake and much too angry with me to go back to sleep, so you can as well listen to me. It is a sometimes gruesome story and best told at night, don't you agree? Well, the cirucs...

Being eleven years old made me feel like an adult. I felt really grown-up, but of course, I was not. I had not even reached adolescence. But at that time I considered myself an adult. I had a certain routine, I knew how to ride a horse or drive a carriage, I could keep my household, and Karl's, that is, since I lived with him now and I was good in my job as violinist and as the magician's apprentice. Some gypsy girls not much older than me got married and were considered respectable women. So I considered myself a man now.

Ivan and I had a quarrel over a new show act. I had a new trick, he disliked it just because it was my idea and not his. The idea was that I would not come out of a casket but would seemingly materialize out of thin air. It was mainly a close-up magic trick I just enlarged to stage-size and instead of some small thing like a pen or an apple I would materialize. I was really angry because I would have loved my trick, but I knew for sure that I could not quarrel with him directly, he was much stronger than I and I was still too low in rank. I was at the very bottom of hierarchy. So I asked Angelica, who somehow was the matriarch of the circus people, what she thought about my idea over dinner. Ivan interrupted that I was just a stupid child and I retorted that I was old enough to get married, so I could at least make suggestions. I knew I would get my whipping for this, but it was an acceptable risk for me to take.

Angelica was at my side in this - she liked my idea and so the beginning of our show would be changed once I build my props. But now Angelica asked me to help her with the cooking. Men usually do not cook, except when no women are around to do the work. Since Angelica had helped me, she wanted my help now and I complied. That was a time when I was growing fast and was constantly hungry. So I was eager to help with the cooking, hoping for one or the other extra-bite. I was in no way prepared that she asked me to kill the five chicken she wanted to cook.

There was a wickerbasked with the five doomed chicken. I got one of them out and stood there a bit helpless. "Are you waiting for that chicken to die of old age?" Angelica snapped.  
"I have never done this," I admitted.  
"I'll show you. You can either snap the chicken's neck or cut it's throat, as you like," she said, then took the frightened chicken from my hands and snapped it's neck. She took a large knife and cut off it's head, then handed me the knife. "Now you!" she commanded.  
I got another chicken out of the basket and found I could not do it.  
"What are you waiting for?" Angelica asked again.  
I looked down at the frightened chicken and admitted that I did not have the heart to kill it.  
"Aren't you hungry?" she asked and I had to admit, that I was starving - as I always was at that time. "So - either you slaughter the chicken or there will be no dinner for anyone here," she threatened. I knew that they would take their revenge if I was responsible for all of them going to sleep supperless. It was the chicken or me - and that was not really a hard decision. It was not easy to cut off the chicken's head, it took me about half an hour until I found the courage to do it. But it got easier, the next three chicken were dead only ten minutes later. I had blood on my hands that was not my own for the first time in my life.

Depluming and taking out the innards was not so hard. Once the chicken were dead, they were just meat and feathers - nothing I had not touched before.

One might think that after having to kill the chicken myself I might have been disgusted or stopped eating meat, but I didn't. I did not even consider it, I liked meat too much. Did this make me a bad man? I do not think so, only very few berks are vegetarians and at that time I did not even know that vegetarians existed. I had to eat what they gave to me and of course meat was a special treat everyone loved. Usually we only got meat when we had something to celebrate or had earned much more than we had anticipated. Well, we got meat when we needed much strength for a really difficult travel like the one that lay before us - the alps. Meat gives you strength, that was what everyone knew.

Yes, that slaughtering animals for food became another skill I had to learn. I learned how to cut a goat's or a sheep's throat, how to stab a pig or a cow in the heart - you can't cut a pig's throat, it is far too thick and the easiest animal to kill was a bunny. Yes, that is strange. Everyone assumed since I still had problems to take an animal's life I would find it even more difficult with a bunny for bunnies are fluffy and cute. But when I stood there, a white bunny in my hands, and Angelica asked me if I had a problem, I almost enjoyed it. I still remember her exact words: "I understand that this is more difficult for you. Bunnies are cute so most people find it more difficult to do them in than other animals."

Something within me grew very cold at her words. As if something had more right to live just because it was cute and other creatures - especially the ugly ones - had less right to live. I snapped the bunnies neck without taking my eyes off Angelica, without showing any feeling, and I think I did not feel anything at that. "How many of them do you want for lunch?" I asked icily and Angelica stared at me in shock.

"You won't do another one in today," she decided, "I do not like the look in your eyes. Go and practice your new violin score!"

I guess this was the first time one of the circus people was scared of me - I only regretted that it was Angelica, whom I liked very much, and not Ivan or Frederik.

I never liked killing animals and I always made sure to kill them as quickly and painless as possible. But I did never consider this any sort of moral problem. You see, a carnivore kills to survive, even some graminivores eat meat from time to time, I've seen goats eating mice and pigs eating chicken, so there was no reason I should consider my survival less important than anything else's. I only killed an animal when we needed food and I always made sure nothing would ever be wasted. Angelica taught me that even animals like to live and if one kills, it would be a sin to kill and then trow any part of the animal away. Almost everything can be used and she taught me that I should always think of what I really need before I decide to do an animal in. I observe that rule to this day.

The trip to Austria was hard. It was spring and the mountain pass roads were open, but it was not an easy trip.

Suddenly a carriage capsized. It was the caravan driven by the "Gypsy Dancer" violinist and he was dead. Just like that. The carriage turned over and he was crushed. In operas you always have grand death scenes and wonderful arias. Death is nothing like that. It was just a carriage rolling down a hill, rolling over the man and he was dead.

His three daughters became hysteric, they had been in another carriage and were unharmed, but they threw themselves over his body, crying, screaming, sobbing. Everyone else was busy to keep the other horses from panicking or we would have had more casualties. Only when they were under control Istvan went to see what had happened to the carriage and the horse. The horse was alive but badly injured, he took out a gun and shot it. Angelica tried to get the hysterical girls away from their dead father. Ivan instructed the helpers to get everything they could from the damaged carriage and divide it so it could be stored in the caravans. We could not stay there, the road was not save, we needed to move on. So it was decided that Karl and I would stay to bury the dead body and skin the dead horse to take the skin and the meat with us - a dead horse meant meat for at least four days and we would not waste it.

"Skin the horse and bury the man - not the other way round!" Ivan instructed me, I assume he meant this as a macabre joke, but I could not laugh then. They left us two of Istvan's horses since these were the only horses that were not already carrying package or drawing a carriage. Istvan was angry, but Angelica's word overruled his. "If something happens to my horses, you'll be a dead corpse, understood?" he snarled at me.

Karl and I dug a small grave, put the body in, covered him with earth. An unmarked grave near a road. That was how all gypsies and diddicoys ended. "Do you know how a Hindu prays?" I asked Karl and he shook his head.  
"There are so many religions in the world," Karl mused, "One can't know all of them. And then there are so many confessions within one religion... you see, you are Christian, Catholic to be precise. I am Christian too, but Protestant."  
"What's the difference?" I asked as we started to skin and cut up the dead horse. I needed to talk about something to get my mind off the gruesome task we were just now performing.  
"You believe in the Catholic Church, the hierarchy within the church with the Pope it's head. I do not. In our confession we have equality of all men," he lectured.

I was tempted to ask who and what the Pope was. I did not know at that time but I was too ashamed of my lack of knowledge to do so. I just accepted the fact. Equality of all men - maybe I was a true Frenchman after all, for equality sounded really good to my ears. It would mean that I had all rights every other man had, regardless of my looks or my low status.

Riding with two large bags of meat on each horse was not easy. The two stallions hated the smell of blood, the iron smell of the blood that covered our clothes was really disgusting but we had no choice - we had to reach the resting place before it became too dark. Once we saw the camp close to the road we got off the horses and took the bloody bags with the meat to the fire. Istvan took off to wash his horses in some little rivulet that was close by as Karl and I washed ourselves and our clothes.

That night he had two pugs in his bead and I had the two other pugs on my breast as we tried to sleep, but I guess, no one could do more than just rest a bit for every time one of us drifted off a bit we would see the carriage rolling down the hill again.

The circus people did not mourn for long, in fact, mourning was not allowed. Once someone was dead his possessions would be divided among the survivors and that was it. We didn't need a judge or a notary. Since I was the only other violinist I got his violin, which was better than mine by far, and mine would be used to teach children. The daughters of the deceased accepted their fathers fate rather stoic.

Ivan was far more shocked than he let on - and his solution was to get drunk the first time we came close to a village. He must have stolen money - not from the circus, even Ivan didn't dare to do that - but from someone in the village to buy cheap alcohol. I do not know what happened that night, we heard him coming home late and shortly after that heard the twins yell, but no one interfered. I didn't dare and obviously no one else wanted to endanger himself. In the morning the twins were gone.

And that was the new main problem. The "Dancing Gypsies" show act could go on with only me as violinist. I could do that. But I could never replace the twins - I had no twin, although I have to admit that I would have loved to have one. I would not be so lonely if I had a twin. But this is not what I wanted to tell you.

I wanted to tell you about how I had to grow up. Having to bury a dead body was something that made me mature strongly. You must not forget, I was about eleven and a half year old, not more.

So I suddenly faced the problem that I had to take over for Ivan again, but this time I did not have the twins. I could make the materialization though, I would take Ivan's place and one of Frederick's children took my place. It worked, but it was really a problem for the magic show relied heavily on the twins, with them gone, half of our tricks wouldn't work. It was a very short magic show and the dancers were really bad that day, it was the first performance without their father, so I guess everyone understood their distress.

Ivan came up with a solution for the "bilocation-trick". Instead of the twins I would have to do the bilocation. His idea was to dig up a skeleton, using salt dough to model my face and put clothes on it so it would look like me. I asked how he would find a skeleton my size and he just laughed. "The audience is not able to tell a difference of ten centimeters in size at my intended distance, don't worry, I know what I am doing."

Yes, he did. And he forced me to help him.

O yes, I forgot to tell you - we were somewhere in Bavaria that time. Don't ask for details, I would not know any.

We had left a village two days before and he suggested that we would ride back at night. It was no problem to do a week's journey in only one night when we would ride and not have to wait for the caravans and carriages and the packing.

We reached the graveyard he had chosen about one hour before midnight. Ivan had bags with him and two shovels. The graveyard was far outside the village so the risk being caught was low, but I was frightened, really frightened. I knew what we were doing was wrong, horribly wrong and I did not want to desecrate a grave. He picked the grave of an old lady who had died some month ago.

I tried to protest, arguing that this old lady deserved better than to be dug up and used for our show. He laughed. "How do you know she deserved better? Did you know her? She could be a greedy old witch, a wicked stepmother or an infanticide," he mocked me. I had to admit that I did not know her, but I assumed that even the most vile of mankind deserved to rest in peace in his grave and he himself would not like to be dug up. Again, he laughed and told me: "You can do with my body whatever you like once I am dead. I really do not care - eat it, feed the pigs with it, it does not matter for if I am dead I would never even know."

I accepted his logic but still did not like what we were doing. The grave was not deep - I do not know if Ivan had known this before or if we were just lucky. When my shovel hit the wood of the casket I jumped out of the grave and stood there, trembling, in the dim light of our lantern. Ivan could not get me back into the grave, I was too frightened, even as he threatened to kill me, I refused. So he just told me to watch out for any nightguards, but in my panic I saw men everywhere and he grumbled I was seeing ghosts and if I didn't shut up he would gag me.

He broke the wood of the casket and immediately a horrible stench hit me since I was standing next to the grave. The stench must have been unbearable where he stood. I couldn't help retching, it was too disgusting. To my absolute horror Ivan opened the casket and took the rotting corpse out, holding it out for me to take it. I couldn't. I backed away and was violently sick.

"Stop faking and help me!" Ivan demanded, but I could not bring myself to touch it. It was... horrible. It was not only the skeleton, it still had flesh, ugly, slimy flesh and rags that had once been clothes and were now soaked with that slime. I could not touch it, I writhed in disgust.

Ivan took a ring and a bracelet from the corpse and put it in his pocket. Then he started to put the corpse in the bag, he was angry for the legs had already come off and he had to climb back into the grave to get them. When he finished his gruesome task we covered the grave with earth again. Ivan carried the bag with the corpse to a pond while I took care of the horses and the tools. I was so sick, you can't imagine how sick I felt by then.

When I reached the pond I saw Ivan cleaning the slime from the bones like one would peel meat off a chickens leg, causing me to retch again. He wanted me to help him, but when he tried to push me towards the remains of that poor lady I fainted. I woke without any doing of his and had no idea how long I had slept. It must have been some time, for the skeleton was clean by then, only clean bones. He pushed the skull up to my face and laughed as I gasped in horror. Then he put the skull in my lap and left it to me to touch it with my bare hands and remove it from there.

I have to admit that human bones do not feel different from animal bones. Once I noticed that I could help him with the skeleton before we both walked away. We stopped at another pond and despite the cold of this spring night we both took a bath to get rid of the stench. It didn't help much. We would need another bath and another set of clothing once we reached the camp.

We reached the camp shortly after breakfast. They had not left anything for us, this was a common practice - who didn't show up for a meal would get nothing. Ivan was angry and I was glad, I would not have been able to eat anything. As far as I remember I spend the whole morning washing and cleaning my clothes. We had just some vegetables for lunch, which was good, so I could eat something. In the afternoon Ivan prepared the salt dough and then we started modelling my face onto the skull. I have to admit that Ivan was a formidable sculptor, when he finished his work, it really looked like me with my eyes closed.

We put the bones together with wire and he modeled the hands after mine. The skeleton was a taller than I was and the fingers were shorter but he told me the audience would never know the difference. Then my "double" was placed in a cage that would be lifted on a chain to make sure "I" wouldn't escape. The trick "he's in the cage - he's not in the cage" was absolutely simple. The cage had three sides covered in black curtains. The skeleton was sitting in the back of the cage. Before it was a very thin black veil. The front of the cage had another curtain, which could be moved with a yellow rope from below in the circus ring. Now, if a stagehand used a concave mirror to direct the light from the oil lamp to the skeleton, the veil would be translucent and in the dim light of the circus tent would be invisible. If the stagehand shifted the concave mirror only a bit the light would fall in front of the veil and the veil would look like it was the fabric of the curtain in the back of the cage. Of course the mirror had to be covered with a rag when it was moved, but this was no problem, "light on" and "light off" was used in many theatres and vaudeville shows, so no one would ever wonder why the light would be turned off to draw the attention back to the circus ring where I would magically "appear".

Why did they not notice that the skeleton never moved? Good question, I have no idea. No one ever noticed. Maybe another magician would notice for he would look where the audience's attention is not drawn, but I never saw or heard anyone ask about the skeleton, on the contrary, sometimes they talked about seeing it move. And when one saw it move, other's claimed to have seen it waive or something like that. The human brain never ceases to astonish me.

So we had the bilocation trick again.

But the price I had to pay for this trick was far too high. I could barely sleep in weeks and whenever I saw Ivan eating something my stomach turned, especially when he ate gigot, he would just take it in his hands and rip the flesh off with his teeth - and in my mind it turned to the leg he had just taken from the grave. In that time the other children left me in peace, I do not know why, everyone went out of my way as they did with Ivan. We were treated as if we were really wicked magicians who could curse someone. We were grave robbers, and in their superstition grave robbers would be haunted by ghosts, worst of all, we had not just robbed the grave, we used the skeleton in each of our shows now, adding desecration of a corpse to the list of our sins.

They thought we would be dead in the night from 30th of April to 1st of May, that was "Walpurgis Night". Yes, they DID believe that this night was something special and witches and ghosts would gather and the devil would collect some souls - and we would be on the top of his list. Ivan laughed it off, he was sure something like ghosts didn't exist, he did not even believe in any religion, claiming it was all made up by men to fool imbeciles.

I have to admit that I was terribly scared for I believed that I would be punished for that crime, even if I did not participate on my own free will. I asked Angelica for help and her idea was that I should go to a catholic church for a confession and ask the priest for a sanctified coin showing my patron saint - or, if they would not have the right one, Holy Mary. I should wear this coin all the time and the devil would not be able to touch me. Well, Angelica and I went to a church. I was disappointed for no one had ever heard of my patron saint, but the priest gave me a medal showing Holy Mary. The price we had to pay for this made me angry. I had no money and Angelica bought it for me, but my disappointment in church was really painful. I had thought church would help anyone, no matter if he was poor or rich, to find that they asked for money, which I didn't have, was really a hard blow to any faith I had before.

Karl's idea was that this was all stupid superstition so I needed to do nothing but repent, but he was sure my crime was not that bad since Ivan had forced me to do it.

Whatever it was, neither I nor Ivan had any problems, we didn't fall ill, we had no accident, we didn't even have a bad show. Everything was fine - except that I could not eat or sleep at the end of April.

The impact our survival had on the others was great - they seemed to fear us, now they did not only avoid Ivan but me too and I rather liked that. Karl and Angelica had no such problems, I liked them and they still wanted me to help them and do work for them, but somehow I gained some respect from the others, not only the children, the adults as well. But this had a horrible side-effect on my mental health. That time I didn't know, but today I think it was really terrible. I developed a morbid fascination for everything that was somehow connected to the physical process of death. I guess this is not a normal pastime for an eleven year old boy.

I did spend some nights on graveyards and crypts, actually hoping to see ghosts but none ever came, no matter how I tried to provoke them to force them to reveal themselves. Finally I was absolutely sure there was no such thing as ghosts. Ivan liked my progress, Karl and Angelica berated me for being so insensitive.

To cut the long story short, when I was twelve in autumn I was no longer afraid of graves and had my disgust over corpses under control. It was still ugly and disgusting, but I could rob a grave when I thought it needed to be done. You have no idea what people bury with their dead - rings, bracelets, necklaces, earrings - all things I liked for they could be sold. Of course I could not sell them myself, Ivan did and of course he did not share fairly. I did most of the work, he would get most of the money. But suddenly I had a little bit of money. Once I found large golden earrings and cleaned them in cheap booze. What Ivan used to drink, I only used as polish. It was a really good polish. I have to admit that I still use cheap alcohol as a polish in my household. Of course I would never even think of drinking that stuff!

Ivan pierced my ears so I could wear the golden earrings like some gypsy men did. The more reckless and, yes, I have to admit it, criminal I became, the more Ivan started to show some sort of weird pride. But getting along with Ivan more easy came at the price of Karl and Angelica turning from me. That time I was angry with them for letting me down, now I know they did it for my own good, they wanted to warn me to stay away from that path Ivan had chosen. Playing the role of the creepy magician is one thing, but identifying with that role in real-life is completely different, and it would never do any good. I just wish I had understood that sooner. Back then I liked my new image as the creepy bad guy, I embraced it and carefully nurtured it, I enjoyed shocking the others with my newfound irreverence and supercilliousness, my recklessness and absolute disregard for anyone's feelings.

O yes, I forgot to mention. We did make it to Hungary. Istvan was excited, telling me the puszta was the greatest landscape of all, but I was horribly disappointed. You see, the puszta is - nothing. Really. It is absolutely flat, the highest mountain is a molehill at the horizon. I have to admit I found nothing I could really appreciate and was happy that we left soon.

We did spend the winter in a large city in Germany. The city was so large, it had a circus building and they hired our best acts. That was Karl, Frederick and his family and Ivan and I. They did not hire the others for they found much better dancers and horseriders. I would never have thought they would find better horseriders than Istvan, but they had a group of them and what they did was absolutely astonishing. Karl was not the only clown they hired, but he was the only one with the "School" show. Ivan and I were not the only magicians, they actually had five magic shows and different programs. It was like... Like an opera house, but not for opera, it was for circus. They had two shows each day but Ivan and I would only be in one show every two days, but it didn't matter.

Our payment would be given immediately to Angelica, who used it to pay for the winter quarters for the circus. The only thing I got for my work was a new set of clothing, all in black, for black contrasted sharply to my extraordinary fair skin and made me look even more pale. Ivan taught me to use kohl to heighten my features, making me look even more skull-like. That winter I felt there might be a place for me in this world, a place where I could live, since I was not the only freak in the show. I was the only freak doing magic, but when we were hurrying to get on stage in time or to get our props no one cared for my appearance. As soon as the audience came in everyone forgot every disgust for my appearance and all worked together professionally.

The good news was, I was so busy I had not one second time to think of mischief. I could not play the bad boy - I had no time. And my troubled mind calmed down a bit. The less time I spend with Ivan, the better, and since he didn't like preparing the props this was my job and I spend most of the time preparing the props alone, sometimes Karl would sit with me and talk to me. He told me about a new idea he had with his pugs and asked for my opinion. Well, I guess he just tried to get my mind off from my morbid fascination with death and decay and to something more enjoyable.

Karl had one show a day and on weekends two a day. He was much better than me and therefor granted the privilege of being in more shows. But to be true - you can't really compare a clown to a magician, unless it is a clown-magician. And that is what he had in mind, he wanted a combined act, clown and magic. While I was working on the props or doing the housework Karl and his dogs would sit by my side and we would talk about a possible show act for the two of us. I would of course be the one to do the tricks, he would be the one to play the magician. It was more or less him the alchemist, me his clumsy assistant - you have to know that playing the clumsy one requires much more skill than playing the normal part - and the pugs would constantly take things away from us, seemingly ruining our experiment, but in the end out of the boiling pot a young woman would appear, proving the experiment to be successful, and many broken items would magically reappear unharmed. We had much fun planning that show.

But then I fell ill before our contract was over - I should have been working until end of January, but I had a terrible cough and my voice was almost gone. I could not work for the coughing became worse in the cold circus hall, I could not talk, I could not play the violin, I could not concentrate on my work and my coughing fits would ruin the show - suddenly Ivan noticed how much he was dependent on my cooperation, for he didn't even know how to prepare some of the props I had build so he could not simply go on with another assistant. I had become irreplaceable.

But that didn't help my acute bronchitis. I could not live in Karl's caravan then for fear he would get infected himself, I was isolated in a makeshift tent, well, tent is a bit too much to describe it - it was old wooden crates and a rain fly as a roof. I had a small fire pit made of scrap metal to keep me warm and prepare tea. It was cold, outside in the night the temperature would drop far beneath freezing point and in my small tent the temperature would be... well, close to the fireplace I would not find ice on the teacup if I forgot to drink it, but close to the makeshift walls the tea would be covered with ice in the morning. They provided me with herbs for my tea, I had to melt snow to get water, and I got food. I was not hungry, but my life was miserable. I wished I had coals, but all I got was dried dung and sometimes wood. I slept on a pile of dry leaves, straw was far too valuable, it would be needed for the horses. Since in the circus laziness was not tolerated, not even when ill, I had to do the only work I could then - which was unraveling old jackets, shawls and even socks to gain wool and knit knew things. I could make a new knit cap out of the wool of two ripped ones.

I would have been better off if I had managed to live in the sewers, but, you see, in large cities the slums were already overcrowded and the dry spots in the sewers, well, the good ones were already occupied. And I had some very valuable possessions then - I had a blanket made of sheep skin, it was five sheep skins stitched together. Some people would kill for a warm blanket like that. You have no idea how bitter poverty and extreme wealth lived in one city. The larger the city, the bigger the gap between its most wealthy and poorest inhabitants. I needed the protection of the camp or I would have been easy prey.

I survived somehow. And we faced the next problem. Ivan had taken his caravan, his horse and the props and left. The "Gypsy dancers" had left. We suddenly lacked two major acts - and I was suddenly alone. Without the props I could only do slight of hand magic and music. But I could not sing then, I still suffered from the nasty cough that was not over by then. I knew I would not overcome that before April or May when the weather would be warm again. The next problem was that Ivan had taken the money from the circus hall he had earned for himself - and only with Karl's ad Frederick's income the price for the winter quarters could not be paid in full. The farmer threatened to take our horses as pledge if we would not pay.

My previous experiences were that in such a situation I should better pack my belongings for I was for sell. But this did not happen. Since some people from other shows came to us our group was not as it had been before. This was common practice. The artist would travel with this circus, then with another one - just like that. So we got a new dancing group, this time a real gypsy family.

They were at large, all of them, for stealing children. I know that "gypsies are stealing children" is a cruel prejudice and in this case... it was not as easy as that. You see, there was a grandfather with his two sons and their wives and his thirteen grandchildren. Yes, right, thirteen grandchildren and two more were to be expected in a few months. The police had rounded them up as work-shy ragtag and taken the children into custody, giving them to foster-parents. These foster-parents had the duty of teaching the children to work to earn their livelihood in an honest way - in that case the foster parents had a waving mill and the children had to work twelve to sixteen hours a day there. Not that my workdays in the circus were shorter, I guess work itself was not the problem. The problem was that they wanted their children back and "stole" them from their new rightful foster-parents.

You see, gypsies did steal children - their own ones, which had been taken from them. The gypsies would not understand why the magistrate would take their children away, they did not understand why they were called work-shy ragtag. They refused to be factory workers or day-workers and work 16 to 18 hours a day for starvation wages and be completely submitted to the arbitrariness of their employers. They rather worked just as hard for a likely poor income and be free. I have to admit that I did never question this, neither way. Of course I understood a state's need for cheap slave-workers. Yes, if I had any chance, I would have loved to have slaves. But, being nothing more than a slave myself, I understood their wish for "freedom", as limited as it was.

Since Angelica knew how well I could copy nearly every paper I was the one to forge papers for them, giving them new names. That would be enough to fool the authorities and give them a "not known by the police" status. Some of the elder girls could dance very well, and one had a lovely singing voice. She was so agile, she would make a perfect "lovely assistant" to a magician - if I could make new props, that is.

We needed money and we needed it fast or the circus would fall apart. I fully expected to be sold now to another circus. But this did not happen. The gypsy and Angelica came up with another idea - in that town a medical professor had seen my appearance in the show and asked to examine me. At first Angelica had refused. We had an iron rule: See everything, touch nothing. No one was allowed to touch anyone or anything. Never. I think this was for our own protection. But this professor offered really much money. He was collecting "freaks" he could show in one of his lectures to sponsors of the University. In a way he was nothing more than a sideshow-manager on another level.

He wanted to present a gallery of living freaks and talk about his really necessary studies to help us poor freaks to become a useful member of society. It was more about our usefulness to society and not so much about our well-being. I refused outright. Showing my naked face and torso in a circus ring or a sideshow is one thing, but standing in an auditorium in university and having to hear a lecture about being an abomination and absolutely worthless for any decent human society was something different. It was... even more humiliating, I think, and it was frightening. It was not just the delighted horror of the audience, it was the delighted horror of the audience sanctified by science. Being called a freak, an abomination is one thing, but being attributed like that as by current state of scientific knowledge - you cannot imagine the terror I felt at that.

To give them credit, they did not beat me into submission or just sold me. They told me it was necessary for survival that I would do it and promised me a reward. The reward was - and I suspect they already had a bargain about that with the professor - that I would be allowed to visit an opera. Everyone knew how much I loved music and the prospect of seeing a real opera in a real opera house was a temptation I could not resist. I gave in, not sacrificing myself for the greater good but because I wanted to earn the ticket to the opera. The professor - he was a short man with a white beard - promised to allow me to sit in his box where I would be hidden from everyone else.

The show in the medical university was by far more humiliating than the sideshow or the circus. I had to stand there naked - stark naked - as he pointed out my deformations and took measures of my body. He told the audience that the age of a freak is often not easily guessed but could be seen at the genitals, which were in my case normally developed for a boy between ten and thirteen. I was twelve, so he was correct. But having him taking measures of my most private parts was not something I liked. The professor used French. You see, in Germany, Austria and even Russia the aristocrats wanted to separate themselves from ordinary people and they spoke French because they thought it was a more noble language than their own. So the professor spoke French with his aristocratic patrons. He did not know that I spoke French, in the circus I had not spoken much and the few sentences the audience would hear from me were of course in German.

"He's used as the magician's apprentice in the circus or he could be in the freakshow, but this poor boy has no other way to live. He has no talents of his own he could use serving society," the professor lectured and I could no longer keep my mouth shut.

"That is not true!" I objected angrily, "I am a very good violinist, the magic show was mostly my doing, some tricks I invented myself! I am a technical draftsman and a singer, a horse-rider and carriage driver and of course I have talents of my own! I'm not a dumb animal - I speak eight languages: French, German, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Romanese, Arabic and Farsi - does anyone of you speak so many languages?" I looked at the shocked face of the professor - he really had not known I was that clever - and the audience, which was somehow embarrassed by my little speech. "I do not like being stared at, I do not like being naked - would you? I am no animal, I am no thing, I am..." I could not go on, I was hysteric by then and broke down sobbing. Some assistant took my hand and lead me away to the next room where I could dress and he was kind enough to give me a glass of water and a handkerchief.

I had never had a handkerchief. I used my fingers if I needed to blow my nose like everyone else. Of course I did not know the luxury of using old newspapers to clean myself after relieving myself - we used leaves or stones we found where we just were. Yes, I know. I digress again.

Well, I saw other freaks there who were presented the same way I had been, men and women and a hermaphrodite, he had male and female genitals between his legs. He... well, I'm not sure if I should say "he" or "she" and I don't like to call him "it" - had to lie on his back and spread his legs so everyone would see. I guess I was better off than him, but I could not see that back then in the tiny room next to the auditorium. I was a sobbing mess and had no coherent speech left. One of the assistants of the professor called Angelica - she had told them I was her grandson or the authorities would have taken me away from the circus and put me in an asylum - and she took my hand and lead me back to the circus. She was accompanied by Karl, Istvan and our strongman to make sure no one stole the money from her.

"You are a good boy, Erik," she tried to comfort me, "Do not believe anything these stupid guy said. So called 'science' is nothing more than fortune telling and magic - but they have a better reputation and more money. That's all, a good name and being rich, that is the only difference between them and us."  
I dried my tears and asked if he had given her a ticket for the opera as he had promised. All I could think of now was my fear he cheated and I had done it for nothing. She grinned and showed me a ticket - at least the professor was honest enough to keep his promise. I would have a box for me alone and I could take with me as many guests as there were seats in that box. It is astonishing how easily I was pacified as soon as I had my ticked in my hands. I can only guess but I was like a whore - as soon as the ordeal is over, you shrug it off and enjoy the payment and forget what you had to do. I was quite good in blocking out memories at daytime as long as I was busy. Only in the night, when I was asleep, nightmares would remind me and torment me.

That is how I came to see my first opera. I didn't go there alone, Karl accompanied me. My first impression was that in an opera the audience would wear the costumes for the women wore fancy dresses and so much jewelry I was tempted to steal and if Karl hadn't held my hands I would have made a small fortune - or been arrested then and there. Of course they turned up their noses on us - our clothing was cheap and patched, even our best clothes, and yes, our shoes were worn and I have to admit that even after cleaning our clothes we still smelled of circus, the smell I associate with circus is mostly sweat and animals. My mask made it much worse and I have to thank Karl's really good manners and persuasiveness that we were allowed to enter - even with our valid ticked.

But I will never forget the opera. It was "le Nozze di Figaro" and I fell in love with the opera almost the very moment the orchestra began the overture. So many instruments in almost perfect harmony - I could have stayed there forever, listening. It did not matter to me that two of the singers were not really good and the second violin was always a bit behind, I was a child and just enjoyed the opera. On our way home - back to the camp that is - I could not help singing all the arias I had memorized. I kept singing and when I finished Karl asked me to sing his favorite aria again.

"Voi che sapete che cosa e amor,  
Donne, vedete, s'io l'ho nel cor,  
Donne, vedete, s'io l'ho nel cor.  
Quello ch'io provo, vi ridiro,  
E per me nuovo capir nol so.  
Sento un affetto pien di desir,  
Ch'ora e diletto, ch'ora e martir.  
Gelo e poi sento l'alma avvampar,  
E in un momento torno a gelar.  
Ricerco un bene fuori di me,  
Non so chi il tiene, non so cos' e.  
Sospiro e gemo senza voler,  
Palpito e tremo senza saper,  
Non trovo pace notte ne di,  
Ma pur mi piace languir cosi.  
Voi, che sapete che cosa e amor  
Donne, vedete, s'io l'ho nel cor,  
Donne, vedete, s'io l'ho nel cor,  
Donne, vedete, s'io l'ho nel cor."

Right, that is the aria of Cherubino and it is a mezzosoprano aria. I had a mezzosoprano singing voice at the age of twelve. Karl was very quiet that evening while I was bubbling over in excitement.

When we settled down for the night - he in his bed, I as usual on the floor - he said: "It is such a shame you have to perform in a circus and not in an opera house or a concert hall."  
"Why can't I?" I asked, confused. I had never even thought that I might perform there.  
"They won't admit the likes of us," he said sadly, "I would have loved to be an actor, but my parents were poor and couldn't bribe the theater manager so I ended up as a clown in a travelling circus."  
I was surprised. I had never questioned my life in the travelling circus and never thought about my possible future. I was a twelve year old boy and had already accepted my fate as a circus freak who would have a very hard and short live and lie in an unmarked grave with no one to mourn his death. It was a surprise to find that not everyone was as fatalistic and stoic as I was at that time. The mere concept that someone like myself could have any dreams other than surviving the day to fight for survival the next day was something new to me, but I rather liked it.  
"Karl?"  
"Hmmm?" He was not pleased that I didn't let him sleep.

"For my new magic show - can we include just one clown magic act? Please?" I begged. Hehe. Yes. I was a bit childish in my dreams for my future. But I made Karl laugh and he agreed.

With the money from the professor and some burglary and theft we got enough to pay the farmer and get our horses back so we could start travelling at the end of February. I had my magic show then, it was mixed with those circus elements I liked much more than Ivan's magic show. It started with Karl as the "Professor" doing alchemistic experiments and me as his "clumsy assistant" who did everything wrong. Instead of conjuring up a beautiful maiden, I made a pug. Instead of making gold I made straw. Instead of making him win in a game with oversized cards I made him lose against a pug. And Karl was wonderful as the annoyed master who was chasing me around and lashing out at me, of course without hurting me.

The others agreed that we could include that act in our show, just after "Frederick's flying family" and their tightrope show to give the audience a good laugh after the suspense.

But my main show was a bit more... dark. I combined music and dance with magic, one of the gypsy girls was now my assistant. God, I felt so grown-up and important as we did the first rehearsal of MY show. It began with the girl coming into the circus ring and stagehands bringing in the prop, a cage on an iron table and a ramp. I climbed up the ramp and was tied to the cage bars by the girl. She covered the sides of the cage with newspaper. Then the ramp was taken away and the henchman entered the stage on a horse. My idea had been a large black horse, but we didn't have a black one. I ended up with an old dun horse, a mare, her back galled by riding, she was so unsightly, not even the knacker would have bought her. Following Ivan's advise I made her look even worse. A good trickster cannot only make a bad horse look good or a good horse look even better - it works the other way round as well. The henchman would set the paper aflame and a burned skeleton would fall down from the table, making the audience scream. Then I would pull back the black hood and throw away the cape to let them know that I was the henchman and had outwitted death once more.

The skeleton? I have to admit that I simply dug one up at some random graveyard and painted it with black colour to make it look like it had been burned. It was not even a complete skeleton, but that was irrelevant. It was a short shock for the audience. Of course a fire in the cage only with paper would never completely burn a Body, but most people in the audience never even try to use their brains, if they happen to have some, what I highly doubted that time.

I was struck with the stage-name "living corpse" so why not milk it? I was the one who would outwit death himself, or herself, as I already told you.

After that trick I would use my violin to play and the girl - my assistant - would dance to my tune, faster and faster, until she would drop "dead". End of the show. I would have loved to cover her in the cape and make her disappear only to reappear somewhere else, but we didn't have trapdoors, so this wouldn't work.

It was not what I had envisioned, but it was good enough. And it was quite a successful show we had that time, travelling back to Austria because Angelica wanted to go to Italy again and we wanted to travel across the alps in summer.

We were already in Italy when Angelica stood up at the campfire after our dinner and pushed a worn leather briefcase in my hands. Then she announced she would go to the mountains. It was so silent, one could have heard a needle fall. Even the flames of the campfire seemed to be silent.

Karl looked away and Istvan was crying. I opened the briefcase and found papers, forged, but really good forgery. It was a passport to prove my identity. "Erik Ami Hein" was my name and I knew Ivan's cynical humor in that. "Freund Hein" is a German euphemism for personalized death, it means "friend Hein" and "ami" is the French word for friend. Erik Ami Hein. Born in Elsass, France, father German, mother French. My jaw dropped as I realized what this meant. I had a new identity, I was free - no one would sell me, it was my decision from now on if I wanted to stay or not.

I wanted to thank her and saw her walking away from the camp so I ran until I reached her.  
"Thank you, Angelica," I said, breathless.  
"You're welcome," she answered and nodded.  
"Angelica - where are you going? It is night, we are far from any village, you should stay in the camp?" I asked and she gave me a long, sad look.  
"I am going to the mountains," she said and continued to walk. An old woman going mountain climbing in the night? That was utterly mad!

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, holding me back. It was Karl. "Let her go," he said, "Come back. It is our way of dying in dignity. She will go to the mountains to find her grave." He gave me a strange, sad glance and said: "I would do it myself, if it was not for my dogs. I can't leave them alone." I do not know if he said anything else, everything was black and the next time I could see anything it was daylight and we were travelling on, I was sitting on a coachmen's seat, tied to it with a rope so I would not fall. We were on the move again and Angelica's name would not be spoken again. There was no mourning and they believed speaking of the deceased would keep his soul from finding peaceful rest, as would mourning.

The circus was not the same after Angelica died. There was a sudden struggle between Istvan and the gypsy grandfather for control, Angelica had somehow been the matriarch and now everyone wanted her position. Everyone, except Karl. I think Karl would have been the best chief they could find, but he didn't want that job. The constant fighting affected our work. Of course we still worked together, but there was such a mistrust now, and I as the lowest in the hierarchy would be the one to suffer the most for everyone took out his frustration on me. Not everyone, no, Karl was even quieter than normally.

I do not know why but they suddenly started to tear the circus apart, fighting for the best pieces and regardless of Angelica's wish that it would be my own decision, I was more or less treated like one of the well-trained show animals. And I realized that I was just another coin to be used in the bargaining. I was devastated. While Angelica lived I had been under the impression that I was regarded as a human being, as the lowest ranking member of the tribe, yes, absolutely, but in a group one has to be the lowest ranking, isn't it? I could accept being the lowest one in hierarchy, but it really hurt me that time to be reduced to animal status again after Angelica had given me my papers, declaring me a free and grown up man.

After one dinner I just got up and left. I would go to the mountains as Angelica had, I would find a cliff and jump down. It would be a quick death, because I feared a slow and painful death. I would not starve - I knew I didn't have the willpower not to eat when I was really hungry - and I was afraid of the pain if I cut my veins or if I would hang myself. I know, this was a really childish idea about suicide, but I had never before thought about killing myself.

I do not know how long I wandered through the night when I heard Karl call my name. I saw him walking with a lantern, using his pugs to find me. Yes, pugs can be used as bloodhounds - if you are desperately searching for cheese. No, that's unfair. They found me and I had nothing to eat in my pocket. "Go away," I called out. He didn't and since he saw much more with his lamp than I without light, he could move faster - especially his dogs could. They ran and caught me and I had to stop and greet them. I could not run with four pugs bustling about my feet.  
"Where are you going?" Karl demanded.  
"To the mountains - take your pugs and go back!" I snapped angrily with tears in my eyes. To be true, I did not want to die. Not really. I wanted to live, I was so young.  
"Come back to the camp," he said. Nothing more. I didn't need more to give up my childish suicide plan and return to the camp with him.

"I too considered suicide. I always do," Karl said after a while. I looked up at him in surprise. It somehow made sense - he was always so melancholic, so depressed, so sad. He smiled sadly as he went on: "I never had any chance in my life. I have no talent, for nothing, I'm always only a burden to everyone. And yet I live... not really understanding why. But I can't die now, what would become of them?" He gestured to his pugs. "But you have so many talents, you are such a clever boy, Erik. Why would you want to end your life without trying?"

"YOU have no right to complain!" I yelled at him, sobbing, as I ripped away my mask, "Look at me - just look at me once! I never had any chance, never will, no one will ever love me, no one will ever even like me. And I do not want to be less than a trained dog, even a dog is loved by its owner!"  
"O Erik," he sighed, "You are so young."  
"And I do not want to die - but I am scared! I am too scared to live!" I have no idea why I said that, that moment it just felt like the right thing to say. Karl took me in his arms and suddenly I wept like a baby. I was ashamed, but I could not stop my tears.

"I, too, considered taking my life," he answered and reached for his pocket to show me a henchmen's noose. Obviously he had planned to hang himself on some tree. I recoiled in horror as I saw just how skillful the knot was. It wasn't the first noose he produced.  
He must have sensed my discomfort for he gave me a sad smile and told me he had come to another decision. "I leave the circus," he said.  
I stared at him, my eyes wide.  
"I leave the circus and go back to Germany. In the circus hall I met another circus, I prefer to travel with them from now on," he told me. I knew what this meant. He would leave and I had no home any more for I rather liked living with him in his caravan. I knew they would give me a place to live - maybe I would even have my own caravan - but I liked Karl.  
"Can I go with you?" I asked, but he refused. He knew exactly that his travel to find the other circus would take months and would be very hard and he didn't want me to suffer these hardships he was going to face. I begged him but he refused again and told me I was better off if I started to make my own decisions than allowing others to determine my fate.

"Really? You think I could do that?" I asked. I had never even thought about really running away from the circus. I had always been told - and learned the hard way - that I could not survive alone. As long as I depended on another one's care of course it was his or her right to tell me what to do. I was too young and inexperienced to make any decisions of my own. Well, sometimes I did, and most of my decisions had turned out badly - like when I nearly had set the tent aflame. I had learned to trust others and not myself. I know, from what I am now it sounds really odd that I was easily lead by others that time. I had no plans or dreams for my future more elaborate than maybe a cup of hot chocolate. I didn't know what that was, but I had heard that it was something very good. My biggest dream was to try it. I did not dare to even dream of seeing another opera.

"You are a magician," he said, "You make the impossible possible and you are the one who cheats death every evening show - yes, I think you could make it. You can find your way to live in this world."  
I chuckled as he said that. I loved the thought that even someone like myself had a place in this world. If there was a divine plan for this world and every man was just a piece of the puzzle then even I would eventually find a place where I would fit in perfectly and be accepted by my next pieces of the puzzle.

He gave me a smile and said: "Erik, let's make a pact. If you do not give up, I will not give up. Swear to me never to give up."  
"Fine with me," I answered lightly, too lightly for his liking. Of course I was just a child and didn't understand the meaning of this pact. But he pointed it out to me. He would make both of us tattoos and whenever we saw them we would think of each other and our pact never to give up.

Karl stayed with the circus a few weeks more to make sure they would have a complete show before he left. Of course we did not find another clown, the "replacement" was a juggler. He was half-gypsy, half-Negro. His father was a gypsy sideshow-master and his mother the main exhibit, the descendant of the legendary warrior-queen Candace, a Nubian Queen who even defeated Alexander the Great, who conquered the whole Orient, and her name is even to be found in the holy bible. I highly doubt that this black woman was really a descendant of that queen, but she could have been Nubian. Well, obviously this sideshow-master had an unique talent to bind his most valuable exhibit permanently to him - he married her.

Karl was true to his word and used a special ink and a needle to stitch a crude tattoo in my skin, the left side of my left upper leg: "Never say die". He himself made the same tattoo on his right leg so when we stood side by side the tattoos would match. A tattoo is... well, it hurts. A lot. And you mustn't move or you have to live with a flawed tattoo for the rest of your life. Believe me - the "N" looks rather like an "U" in my tattoo, but it does not matter, I know what it means. No one sees it for I never show my naked legs if I have any choice in the matter, but whenever I take a bath I look at it, sometimes I touch it. Some people think I am touching my left pocket in my trousers like I was looking for my keys when I do that, but I use it when I am really tempted to give up, when I just want to lie down and die. It reminds me of my pact with Karl. Never say die.

Sometimes I wonder why I had my ears pierced through and a tattoo - as if my body wasn't deformed enough, I had to mutilate it further. But this tattoo I never regret. It reminds me of a really good friend and our pact never to give up, no matter how hopeless the situation seems to be. "NEVER SAY DIE".

The day after he made our tattoos Karl was gone and I was left alone. Well, not really alone, but among the others and the hubbub in the circus each day I felt more lonely than ever before. And the constant fighting began to annoy me, everyone was tensed up, everyone in a bad mood - how can one make a good show like that? And if something went wrong, someone surely would blame me. I have to admit, sometimes it was my fault, but most times I was really innocent. Yes, I was no saint who would suffer any abuse without considering revenge - of course I sometimes used my abilities as pickpocket to make something disappear and then reappear right before their noses. Ans sometimes I pretended to be stupid or not understand an order. Of course I did understand everything, I understood much more than I could say in the different languages, but I deliberately misunderstood, hoping they would leave me in peace in the future.

The situation became more and more unbearable, the constant fighting, the constant intrigues, it even came to open threats and violence. I constantly lived in fear for I didn't know who was my master now - that could change every minute - and if I was allowed to obey or not. Since I did not like anyone there I did not feel any loyalty towards anybody.

So shortly before my 13th birthday I snatched two saddlebags, saddle, brindle and a mule and left the circus. In the saddlebags I could not take with me the large props - the ones I could not use alone for I needed up to four helpers to operate them properly. I only took what I could handle alone. Plus a second set of clothing and my sheepskin-blanket and my violin. Nothing more. I thought I deserved the mule as payment for my services the previous years, so no, I didn't consider it theft, do you?

O no, I really forgot the time! The sun is already shining! We must not be seen together, I must hurry. Goodby, I'll visit again when I am ready!

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _There were not only travelling circuses - there were circus halls in big cities in Germany where various shows would stay for some months and then go on._

 _The tricks I describe do work._

 _What I describe happening in the medical university did really happen - and can happen to anyone who has a rare decease even today. Medical professors love to present their interesting patients in an auditorium but they never think about how a patient might feel in such a situation._

 _Please review! I appreciate every review very much!_


	5. Gentleman Adventurer

**HEART TO HEART CONVERSATION**

 **Gentleman Adventurer**

Good afternoon! Now you cannot complain that I am keeping you from your beauty-sleep, can you? Today I brought a picnic basket for us. These apples are really good - it is not easy to find them in the market and they are expensive, but I really love them. Delicious. Wine? O, I forgot, you do not drink wine. Do you mind if I have some? Not that your objection would hinder me drinking it... Apple?

Yes, that winter in Italy I would have loved to have apples...

Running away to live on my own might not have been the best of my decisions, for now I was really alone. The first days I stayed away from everyone, trying to bring some distance between me and them without being too easy to track down. After three days the hunger forced me to enter a village. I was really scared, I had never done this alone. You see, in circus I was announced and just had to do my show. I had never announced myself or tried to draw in a crowd. And now I needed to make myself known, I had to find a place where I could perform and I needed to gain the people's attention despite all my instincts telling me to keep quiet and hide. I was a shy boy after all.

But with shyness and modesty I would never fill my stomach. So I decided to tie my mule to a post and took my violin and just started to play. Passers stood and listened. I really managed to gather a small audience, maybe ten or twelve people. Judging from their clothes they were poor, but I really needed money and food. When my music ended they applauded. I bowed to them and tipped my hat. "Thank you, gentlemen, but as much as I appreciate your applause - an artist can't live only on applause." Yes, I was more or less begging and I was ashamed, but what could I do?

They were about to go away, but I would not give up so easily. I knew I could not reach the next village that day and it was my fourth day without food. The hunger gave me the necessary strength to go on. "Gentlemen, I see that music might not be to your liking. Maybe you would prefer a little game?" Some of them went away, eight men stayed and watched me curiously. I took out three dice-boxes and a taw. It was no black glass marble, it just looked like one, it was made of metal. Then I put the taw under one of the dice-boxes, changed them and dared them to find the taw. They did. Of course they did. Actually I had three metal taws and in the left sleeve a magnet. So if I lifted one dice-box with my left hand, the magnet would attract the taw and the box appeared empty. If I lifted it with my right hand, the taw stayed where it was and the audience won.

They were really willing to bet money - not asking if I could pay should I ever lose in that gamble. Well, I won a few times, then I did not dare risk another game for there was the risk they might find out how I did this. So I changed the game and made another bet. I handed them a deck of cards and turned round. Then I told them to take one card out of the deck. I took a rug and asked them to hand me the deck under the rug so I would not see it, after that, they should place the card somewhere in the deck - still beneath the rug. If I found the card, I won, if not, they win. Of course I won. A really childish trick, but it earned me a coin.

To soothe them - I did not want them to feel bad for they always lost against me - I played a few pieces on my violin and then I told them I had entertained them enough and went away. I didn't go to an inn or a store, I went to a little farm and asked if I could buy some food there. They did not like my mask and I had to stay outside and wait for them to return for they did not allow me to cross the threshold, they charged me a very high price for a bit of milk and a piece of bread but I was starving and didn't want to look for another farm where I could buy something.

So my life as a travelling entertainer started. I remember being constantly cold and hungry, sleeping on the streets, seeking shelter in dark corners, sometimes sleeping somewhere in the fields or woods or sometimes in fruit groves. It was not that my shows were bad or people didn't like to see them - it was the problem that they themselves were poor. They gave me money, yes, and I knew some of them gave me as much as they could afford, but they had nearly nothing. So my problem was that I was in the wrong part of the world to be a nomad street artist.

Well, maybe it was not the best idea to sleep in the fruit groves, for one night I woke up because someone took away my cozy sheepskin-blanket. I cried out in alarm, as did he. Obviously he had seen my face - I slept with the mask off because I always removed it in my sleep anyway - and thought I was dead and he could steal from me easily. He was as shocked as I was and ran. I did not dare go after him, he was a tall man and much stronger than I was. I was lucky he just took my blanket and not my mule and the saddlebags with my violin and my props. That would have been much more of a problem.

The problem with the blanket - well, my solution was quite criminal. I just stole a grey coat from a coachdriver. It was too large for me, but it was warm and would even keep me dry in rain.

I soon learned that performing in the street would not earn much money. A bit, yes, but I did not show my face and I did not earn much. I was rather treated like a beggar, I had barely enough to keep body and soul together. It was a really hard life, especially when I fell ill again, sleeping under the stars in winter is not a good idea, even in south of Italy. I had rhinnitis, a cough and terrible headache. I would have loved to lie down and rest a few days but I was on my own and could not stop just because I was ill. But I found that in cities I would easier earn money, the best way was to ask an innkeeper if I was allowed to entertain his guests to earn a little bit. Most innkeepers turned me down for I wore a mask, but sometimes I was lucky and they allowed it. I would start with a piece of music on my violin and wait for the guests to get a bit drunk. Then I would start with simple tricks, like just pointing to a candle and the extinguishing the flame just by pointing to it to get their attention.

And then I started stories, card tricks, dice tricks, tricks with my handkerchief or eating a candle.

The "eat the candle" trick is really easy. You need an apple and an almond. Carve the apple to a candle stump and press the almond in it. Lit the almond with a match to show everyone it is a real candle. Then eat it. Tastes good.

I would go from table to table to entertain the guests. I did not earn money but they invited me to eat something or to drink something with them and at that time this was much better for me. I sometimes even managed to get them to drink much more and the innkeeper asked me to stay a few days, I could sleep in the barn and the guests I entertained invited me. That life was not that bad, at least I had a few days where I would eat as much as I could, then a few days of wandering nearly without food and then a few days in an inn again... well, I survived. And I gained some self-assurance being able to survive alone as a street artist and close-up magician. My tricks and stories were not dark or macabre and I did not show my face, I preferred to be a clown magician, even if it meant being hungry far too often. It was my choice.

There is a reason I did not steal much that time - I was among people who had close to nothing themselves. How could I steal from them - there was nothing. I did not steal from innkeepers who had taken me in, that was some sort of morality I had. I would not repay their kindness with theft.

But soon I encountered another problem, although I did not recognize it as a problem at that time. In these inns I learned to drink wine. They had cheap wine but I drank far too much and liked the feeling of being drunk. Wine helped me to deal with people, to endure their mocking, to entertain them and make them laugh despite my fear and mistrust for them. As a thirteen year old boy I was on my best way to become a drunkard. Sometimes I woke with a horrible hangover, sometimes I could not really remember what had happened the night before. The innkeepers liked that, for I was encouraging the other guests in drinking games to buy more wine, but one day I woke and had lost my golden earrings and no idea how or where. While travelling I was sober and I guess that was what saved me from really becoming addicted. But I spent too many mornings shaking and retching, no boy that age should do that.

And I had no one to forbid me drinking or to berate me. I just... well, one day I woke up in a lock-up and had no idea how I got there. It was a small room, not more than two squaremeters large, and I was alone on the filthy earth-floor. The police told me I had been caught stealing money. I really could not remember anything, but I panicked and begged them to let me go, I would give everything back, I would do anything - but being locked up was really one of my worst fears. Maybe I was lucky for the policemen where corrupt and told me if I gave them my mule they would look the other way and let me run. I could take my violin and my props in a kitback. I accepted. What else could I have done? Say no and go to prison for years for a theft I didn't even remember? To be true - I still wonder sometimes if I had tried to steal or not. Maybe I was just easy prey to their blackmail, maybe I had really stolen something. I do not know.

Now I was really alone, on foot, without my mule and I swore to myself never to get drunk again.  
Cheers!  
What? I am no child, so there is no reason I should not enjoy a good glass of wine or two. Come on, life is hard enough - especially for me - I deserve a little reprieve. Eat your apple-pie and keep quiet.

I just went south with the sun as my compass until I reached the ocean. I somehow managed to persuade a fisherman to take me to Sicilia and then I went on on foot. I have no idea why I was so fascinated by Sicilia, maybe because it was so warm in winter I could survive without freezing. And yes, staying close to the coast and the salty air from the sea helped my cough and I soon felt much better. That time I lived mainly on playing music in the street or entertaining people with cardtricks in various inns. And yes, I was a pickpocket. It was not my first option, but if I did not earn enough, I started stealing. But I stopped drinking, which was really the best idea I had had that time!

So I came to Palermo. You don't know Palermo, do you? Well, not the most interesting of cities. But it has one attraction really worth seeing. The Catacombe dei Cappuccini. Never heard of it? What a pity! It is a burial crypt, catacombs beneath a church, a monastery. And the corridors are full of corpses in various states of decay. They mummify their dead ones and put them up there. Corpses wherever you look, standing at the walls, sitting in niches, lying in shelves. Some are in caskets, most are not, they are literally put on display as "memento mori". Sometimes the families come to change the clothing of their ancestors. There are rooms for monks, rooms for men, for women, for children, for the rich and the not-so-rich - no poor people of course. Noblesse obligue, even in death. Some of these mummies are just skeletons but some look so very alive, I was tempted to take my hat off and greet them. Well, at least to me they did look alive.

It was a bit like looking in a mirror with some mummies. So when I visited the catacombs, I simply sat down with two mummies which looked very much like me and took off my mask. In the evening a monk went through the catacombs and asked the visitors to leave for he had to lock the door. I was locked in and slept very well among the mummies. No, there was no stench. Mummies generally do not stink, well, not much. I had not washed or changed my clothes for three weeks, I guess my smell was worse than their's.

Cheers! Don't give me that look! What do you mean, if I do not want to hear your opinion I should stop visiting? That is a joke, isn't it? Surely you want to know what happened next.

It was a really foolproof idea I had then. My idea was that I would venture outside, wearing my mask, my cloak and hat and pick pockets. If I was suspected, I fled to the catacombs, took off my mask and sat very still, trying to look dead. I had my favourite group of mummies, they looked so much like me, one of them even much better than me, no one ever suspected me to be alive. O, they did haunt me. Of course. They ran after me, knowing the masked thief had fled to the catacombs. And there they lost me while I was sitting right under their noses, having fun watching them searching for me in vain. Of course, they only searched for a living boy, not for a dead one and I looked more like a mummy than my new best friend Stinky. Yes, I gave them nicknames. Stinky, Patch and Booby were my favourite mummies. Haha. I would often talk with them, pretending to have friends. At night I would show them my card tricks, I sometimes even played my violin for them. When I sat with them it looked like me and my three friends sitting there for a nice evening chat. Sometimes I placed my coat around Booby's shoulders and my hat on Stinky, but the policemen never knew. They never looked at the corpses. It was astonishing to find out what a human can overlook.

I loved the corpses. With my vivid imagination I really pretended to have friends. It was a bit like a girl playing with dolls, only I was playing with corpses. The good thing about them - they never object or berate you for something. I guess I was very lonely. Very, very, lonely.

This wine is really good. Are you sure you don't want to try? Suit yourself.

I guess I would have stayed in Palermo much longer, if I had not become really cocky. It was one of those evenings in spring when I noticed a very elegant gentleman. His immaculate clothing was like a "please pick my pockets"-sign. I sneaked up with him and started to talk to him, asking for a job and giving good advise where the next inn was... pretending to be just another unnerving guttersnipe. He slapped me, pushed me away and I came back, offering to sell him a ring. Of course he didn't want a ring and I didn't have one to sell - I just needed an excuse to stay close to him. So I got his purse, his pocketwatch, his handkerchief, his pocket knife, even his cufflinks and necktie. Maybe the necktie was was a bit too much for he noticed that I was picking his pockets.

He did not cry "thief" and "police" like most people do when they notice that they are stolen from and I ran, he following close behind. For a gentleman he was really fast, he was as fast as myself and I barely managed to get into the catacombs where I managed to lose him for a moment. I sat next to my mummies, my hat on Stinky's head but I had no time to take off the cloak as well for the gentleman came to the room. I watched him through nearly closed eyelids as he went to and fro, not understanding where I had gone. He even opened a few caskets.

I was really relaxed, even as he stared at me and my mummy-friends. It was not like I hadn't seen that before. They stared at me, some even poked at Stinky for he looked much better than I did and then went away. But not he. He stood there, staring at me and the mummies. First he pinched Stinky. I had trouble to keep myself from grinning. Then he touched Booby. I was his third guess and he touched my hand. I was so startled that my eyes flew open and he backed away with a horrified scream, landing on his back. I got up and took my hat from Stinky's head and tried to run. I had to pass him but thought he was too shocked to try to catch me. I had underestimated him, he grabbed my leg and suddenly I was on the floor and he held onto my ankles, his hands like a jaw vise. I struggled to get free, he didn't let me go and he was much stronger than me. I was just a thirteen year old boy then. I even drew my knife, but he drew a gun and I stopped fighting as the gun barrel appeared only centimeters before my eyes.

"Don't shoot," I begged.  
"Don't fight," re replied a bit breathless.  
Suddenly all my bad boy buster was gone and I was just the frightened teenage boy. I begged him not to call the police, I would give everything back and more, I would do anything if he let me go.  
He laughed. "How old are you, boy?"  
I admitted that I was going to be fourteen in six months.  
That was when he cocked his head, an amused gleam in his eyes. "You are talented," he made Stinky say. My jaw dropped. He was a ventriloquist. Now I understood why he had found me - he must have learned some magic tricks himself. "Tell me how you do that?" he made Patch say.

"Do what?" I asked.  
"Your make-up. It is perfect. You really look like a corpse. Great idea to hide here, really, so tell me how you did your make-up?"  
"I do not wear make-up," I answered, hurt and humiliated. Obviously he did not believe me for he reached out and touched my face. Then he was sick. It would have been my chance to run but I did not. I covered my face with my mask, trying to hide my tears.

"Sorry," he said as he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. He must have noticed that I stood there crying in shame and pain for he suddenly was quite friendly. "What is your name, young sir?" he asked politely.  
"Erik Ami Hein," I answered.  
He looked round and found his hat, placed it on his head and took it off with an elegant bow. "Pleased to meet you, sir. Henry Smith, Gentleman-Adventurer, at your service," he said. I guess his name was as false as mine was.

He asked me to join him for he thought me a promising talent. He was just a thief like me but with better clothing and better behaviour. He was as penniless as I at that time - the purse I had stolen was empty. But together we would have an easier life.

So began my next step in my questionable career. Henry wanted to leave Italy, obviously because he was a wanted man, but without money he could not leave Palermo. He was a confidence trickster, burglar and thief. I was a talented pickpocket and a magician and yes, a card sharper. Together many doors opened to us. First we broke into a second hand shop for elegant clothes to get me an elegant suit and shirt and elegant shoes. I even took some silk with me to stitch a better mask for me, a white one. He was surprised that I knew how to behave and soon we passed as the rich English gentleman and his servant.

Of course I was not naive enough to believe he picked me because he liked me, certainly not, he needed money and he needed it soon. In Italy it is easy to sell relics. That was his idea how we would make money. I would have to be the relic - I was perfect for playing the corpse - and do some miracle like folding my hands when I heard the Lord's prayer, to prove that I was really the corpse of Saint So-and-So. The "miracle" would be that I would speak to them, I would join their prayer. Henry taught me the art of ventriloquism so I could speak without moving my lips or any other part of my face.

It worked. We played that trick just once, it was the hell of a preparation and it took us three weeks of really hard work and practice but then Henry sold the relics of Saint Whats-his-name to some superstitious rich fool. Henry taught me about timing and escape plans. My escape plan with the catacombs had been good, but his was much better. He had booked a passage on a ship that would leave the port that night, before our victim would find the relic had run away. Literally.

Henry waited outside the house of that fool and took me with him. I do not know, maybe it was honour among thieves, maybe he wanted to store me for further use, I don't know. All I knew was that we were in a tiny cabin on an English ship bound for India. Henry romanticized India. India, a British colony where everyone could make a fortune. Everyone could become rich, everyone would become a king - I accepted his fairy-tales. It was nice to listen to them, well, after my seasickness was gone, that is. I spent the first two days on that blasted ship with my head in a bucket.

The travel on that ship was really boring. I was struck in the small cabin Henry and I shared. I was not allowed to leave it, my appearance could have frightened the ship's crew for they might mistake it for a deadly illness and that could cost my life. So I spent much time on my narrow berth and I have to admit, I loved it. It was the first time in many, many years that I was lying in a real bed. It was so soft and warm and I really loved to be lazy, doing nothing, just staring at the planks and sleeping all day long. It was the first time in my life that I could really relax - and I fell ill again. I do not know why, maybe the previous years had taken their toll on me, but I had a nasty cough and was really glad to be able to stay in bed and recover.

Henry didn't stop complaining. The bed was too hard, the food not good enough, everything was far beneath his station. He was a common thief, so what would be appropriate to his station? A prison cell? But of course I kept my tongue in check. I wanted to become a "Gentleman-Adventurer" with him in India.

My first impression of India was that I suddenly was homesick to the catacombs with the mummies. India is so many people, so much noise and so many bright colours, so many different smells - it was a painful assault on my unprotected senses. There is so much chaos, noise and so little space. Horrible. But then - a pickpockets paradise. Especially where the British merchants were. I collected more purses than I could hide in my pockets and constantly supplied Henry with them, he would take the money and throw the purses away.

We had enough to rent two rooms an a hotel. A real hotel, with all luxury I had never even dreamed of. The room that was mine was large. Really large - you could have stored four caravans in there - and had a bathroom. Of course no running water but servants would bring hot water if I wanted a bath. The bed was large, as large as a small caravan, and so very soft, the sheets and the carpets silk. I barely dared to touch these things for fear to dirty them. It was my first day in real luxury and I had a very tasty meal brought to my room. Henry taught me how to be a picklock.

We soon had a nice trick to "earn money". He pretended to be an archaeologist who wanted to go back to his homeland and was selling a few artifacts. Of course his "artifacts" were just things he had bought at the bazaar and made look older. But the highlight of his collection would be a mummy. I guess you already know who the mummy would be. I would be covered in dirty rags and lie in a large wooden box with straw. The idea was that Henry would deliver the casket with the mummy to the house of the greedy collector. While Henry was enjoying a nice dinner with his host, I was to climb out of the sarcophagus and steal whatever I could, then take the black abaya, hijab and niquab I had hidden in the straw and run back to the hotel. In India were many muslim women, so one more of them would go unnoticed. I loved the clothing of the women in India. Long dresses and veils. So many women covering their faces. I passed easily as a woman and no one took any notice of me. Of course when they found the mummy was gone and money, jewelry and artifacts missing, they suspected Henry. But how could he have done it? He was sitting at dinner with them and no one had entered the house. Sometimes a woman was seen running away.

Our trick worked well until Henry made a mistake. He tried to pull that trick on a man who knew someone who had already been robbed by us. We only used the trick once in each city, always moving on, but obviously that was not enough. That man called the police and they arrested Henry as he was about to deliver the box with the mummy. Of course no one thought about arresting his mummy... I got away that time, ran back to the hotel dressed as a woman and got my sailor's kitbag and fled. Of course we never paid the hotel bill.

Now I was alone in the streets once more. I was on my way to the north and it was summer and horribly hot. Water became my first concern now. I stole a donkey and rode in the night, seeking a cool, shadowy place to spend the day. Again I started to live as street artist, but I soon discovered that people in India didn't appreciate the same entertainment as Europeans do. They had their own music and their own entertainment. So I turned to a completely different idea. I noticed that women always kept their eyes down and never looked at a man. Looking at a man would be seen as invitation to make love.

I would dress as a girl and I would lure them into a quite corner and start to caress their breasts and legs, picking their pockets. They were stupid, really stupid, I didn't even need to say one word - which was good for I didn't know their language and most of them didn't speak English. At first I thought maybe one in a hundred men would react to my "flirting" and was surprised to find almost every second man reacting and not one wondering why a strange woman would find them attractive. If that was what a man was, I never wanted to grow up to be one. When they opened their pants I just took off my niquab and gave them a triumphant, scornful sneer. That was enough to send them running as if the devil himself was chasing them.

Maybe not the most honorable way to earn money, but I got much. So much in fact, I could afford to sleep in inns and hotels at day, traveled at night. I even bought a horse, so I rode a horse and had a donkey carrying my kitbag. I was quite fast traveling like that. Really fast. I made it to Lahore, in the Punjab region. There the British didn't want people to speak their own language, fearing rebellion as the people there had ties to Afghanistan. There were many British people in Lahore. But I had learned that my new profession would earn me much more than being a street artist, so I continued with my flirt-and-steal trick.

But then one really horrible experience taught me that masquerading as a woman was dangerous. It was late evening and I was nearly done picking pockets and wanted to return to the inn soon to play the "son of an English gentleman whose father would arrive any day now" again. I liked that role and as long as I paid in advance I was not asked too many questions. It was not a noble hotel, it was one of those inns where all sort of scum from Europe gathered together, escaping the law in their homelands or hoping for easy money in India. No one asked about my mask, as long as I stayed out of everyone's way and never complained about the noise at night. Of course I had to be careful, they were older and stronger than me, at least I thought so. I was not one to risk a fight then when it could be avoided.

Yes. I know. I digress again. Sorry.

Well, that evening I just lured another man into a dark corner of a sidestreet, ready to caress him and collect his belongings, but the man grabbed me and pushed me up to the wall. He must have mistaken me for a woman, for when he reached between my legs he let go of me briefly, only to attack again, forcing me to my knees. I had no idea what he was doing, I just knew I did not want to be raped. When he took off my veil he lost every interest in having me. But this did not stop him from brutally beating me up and leaving me in the street, hurt, scared and humiliated. Somehow I managed to cover my face again and tried to go back to the hotel - but I could not. He had stomped on my toes with his heavy boots, breaking most of them. I had four broken toes left and three broken right. No way to get up and walk, all I could do was crawl.

I was forced to sell the horse and the donkey, of course I was cheated by the buyers, but I needed a few weeks rest to heal and be able to walk again. Yes, I know. The landlord was exploiting me, he knew I had no choice and asked a horrible price for a few weeks just staying there. I guess he knew by then that I was lying and there was no father who would eventually come to pick me up.

So when I was healed, I found myself penniless on the streets of Lahore and the monsoon began with tons of water. Sleeping in the streets was absolutely impossible. Sometimes I was under the impression to drown in the rain, so much water fell. There were so many homeless people, so many homeless children, it was not easy to find any shelter that was not already occupied by a group of them. Of course they refused to share what little shelter they had with me. Performing on the streets, at the market or somewhere else was impossible. I was forced to live as a thief and a beggar.

One day I found a small boy dressed in women's clothes lying in the mud. He cried for help and I went to him. He was bleeding from his anus and his nose, had a black eye and really horrible bruises all over his body. I asked if he understood English and he nodded. I picked him up and took him with me, don't ask me why, maybe I was just lonely, maybe I simply could not resist his dark eyes. His eyes were so... so full of pain and grief, it was almost too much to bear.

He turned out to be a really beautiful boy of just seven years, I was almost twice as old. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen with his fair skin, the raven black hair and his dark eyes with the long lashes. His body was - perfect. Perfect in every sense, in all my life I never saw a boy that beautiful. Aestethically attractive.

No, I was certainly not attracted to him. I was a child myself, even with nearly fourteen, but my voice was still Mezzosoprano and I had not started to grow a beard. Maybe it was just my desperate need for a companion that made me help him. He saw my face when we finally found shelter and settled down for the night, clinging together for warmth. He did not scream. He just studied my face for a while, then settled down in my arms and slept.

He told me he was from Afghanistan, a "batcha". That is a tradition in Afghanistan, "bacha bazi". It means the most beautiful boys are dressed in women's clothes and have to dance for their masters. And they are used as sex-slaves, forced to satisfy every pervert wish of their owners. He had been raped so often and so brutally he could no longer control his anal sphincter, with all disgusting consequences. Therefor his masters threw him out whenever he soiled the bed. But he kept running back to them, seeking a new master, offering his services. Until another embarrassing mishap made his new master so angry, he would beat him and cast him out in the streets. I learned he had been sold by his mother so she could pay the blood money to stop a blood vengance that had already cost him his father and two brothers.

We started a new trick - he would dance to get people look at him while I would make music. I knew stealing would be punished by hacking off the right hand and suddenly was scared of that punishment since I saw the public punishment one day. Far too often the boy would go with a man and come back with money. I would stand outside the house and wait for him, feeling terrible. When he came back he was usually crying and asking me to hold him. I told him to stop that, we could survive with what little we earned with music and dance, but he insisted we needed more. I admit that living with him made my life easier, he earned much more with his dance than I could with my music and my tricks. And he could translate between English and the local dialect.

A souteneur? Who, me? Well... now that you say it... maybe. You see, I did not force him, on the contrary, I told him to stop but he... he couldn't. He needed the money for drugs, opium. He was seven years old and smoking opium. And I was taking advantage of his desperate need to be held and comforted by someone. Once he told me he envied me, for no man would ever make me a dancing boy. He would have done everything for a face like mine. As I would have for a face like his. He was beautiful like a Greek god. But as much as we wished for it, we could not switch our bodies.

His problem with his anus forced him to seek the British quarters regularly for newspapers - the Englishmen were fond of newspapers and he used the paper in his pants as some sort of makeshift nappies. Englishmen even threw away old newspapers. Newspapers, something valuable in the world I was living in. It could be used to create a fire, to use as mattress, to use to clean yourself after defecating or you could fabricate some tools for magic shows of them. And they threw that luxury thing away like trash! Their trash had so many valuable things, sometimes we even found delicious food.

We were searching for old newspaper and old clothes in the trash when we noticed a building site. I overheard the owner yelling at the architect and the master mason, they yelled at each other or at the owner - but they could not understand each other. You see, the owner was an Englishman, the architect was German and the master mason Russian. The master mason spoke a bit German, but the architect's English was simply horrible. They were so busy yelling at each other, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to steal. Stealing from Europeans involved less risk, they wouldn't cut my hand off immediately.

I sneaked up on them. A small, old man was standing beside the Englishman, leaning on his crude stick. I didn't pay much attention to him, I barely recognized he was there. Until I found myself at the feet of the English merchant and had no idea how I had fallen. The small man bent down and whispered: "Never try that again, boy!" then he straightened his spine and smiled friendly at his master, telling him: "Sir, this young lady just tripped over the hem of her dress." He bent down to help me up. Yes, I wore a dress and a veil at that time to cover my face. But I was curious who that little man was who so easily threw me to the ground and saw through my masquerade.

So I came back the next day, and the day after. The third day I was there shortly after midnight, waiting for the Englishman and his servant to appear in the morning, annoying his workers. As you might have guessed already, it was not the Englishman I wanted to meet. I was not easily surprised at that time, but somehow that man managed to sneak up on me and I only noticed him when a thin rope cut off my breathing and something hard hit the back of my head. I struggled against the rope, tried to get my fingers between the rope and my neck, tried to give in and move towards him, but he adjusted so fast, it was all in vain and I ended up on my knees at his feet, terrible fear seizing me as I found I could not breathe and I could not think rationally any more.

You are right. It was my first encounter with that special piece of catgut, what I later called "Punjap lasso".

He loosened his grip on the rope and I gasped for air, unable to get up or speak. "What do you want, boy?" he asked, but I could not answer. He waited patiently until I was able to speak again.  
"I'm interested in architecture," I lied, "And the building site looks interesting." That was only half a lie. I liked architecture and masonry, but my main goal had been the money in the Englishman's pocket. I guess he knew that, for he told me never to lie to him again, he knew I was a thief and a burglar and a trickster.

That was how I met the man who would change my life forever.

I do not know why but I was fascinated by his behaviour. When he was dealing with other people, he was a clumsy old man, a bit dull-witted but good humored. When he spoke to me he... he was not clumsy, not dull-witted and... well, his humor was a bit strange. But there was something in him that fascinated me. I cannot even say what it was, his dark eyes like a hawk, his impressive strength and his agility beyond nature. For that was, what he really was. He just pretended to be the friendly if a bit stupid servant. He had a superior intellect and his body was, old as he was, trained in decades of rigid discipline, he was more agile than I was at that time by far. I was a clumsy fool stumbling over my own feet compared to him.

He was interested in me because I was, as he called it, a "natural". With my natural agility and trickery I had proven myself worthy of his time. He would teach me, if I would bow down to him, submissively obey him and follow his instructions without ever questioning him. I did not want to be a slave again and I told him so. He chuckled.

"No slave, boy, my pupil," he said, "If you are worthy, you will gain my respect and secret knowledge of my ancient art."

I had no idea what his "ancient art" was and what talent of mine he was referring to. You see, I did play music and magic tricks at the marketplace, mostly for Europeans, the native didn't like that kind of entertainment that much. He might have seen me. Maybe he even knew I spoke several languages.

"What is it, you would teach me?" I asked.

He smiled and said "follow me". Then he ran into the building site, shot up a wall like one of those lizards, ran over a half-finished wall, climbed higher and higher. I could not follow him. I was agile, but not like him. He jumped over a really large gap, landing on his feet without a noise. I had seen circus artists, really good circus artists, and this man's agility rivaled theirs. It took me half an hour in the darkness to reach him and I wasn't noiseless.

He patiently waited for me in what would later be a patio with a fountain. I was a bit breathless. "You are a circus artist," I observed.

"No, I am not," he replied a bit offended, I felt obliged to apologize. I didn't understand how he did it, but he was able to influence my feelings. Not my rational thoughts, that would require logical arguments, but my feelings, just with his stance and his voice. Once I understood that, I was able to resist and act against my feelings. I straightened my spine and looked down at him. He was smaller than me.

He smiled. "You have an alert mind," he said, "That's good."

"Tell me," I asked quite rude, "Why would you want to teach me? I can't pay anything, as you already know, I am just one piece of human trash." I did not have a very high self-esteem then. I knew I was nothing more than a thief and a beggar, worst of all, I was taking advantage of that poor boys desperate need for companionship. I was using him as I had been used. And I had already decided to abandon him as soon as he would become a burden instead of a source of income. Yes, I was a selfish bastard, I was in no way better than Ivan or anyone else who had taken advantage of me. I didn't even think about this - to me, that was normal. It was absolutely normal to exploit the weak ones and in this curious relationship I was the stronger one.

I absolutely agree with you. That was horribly selfish and cruel. But what could I do? I was offered a chance that someone might take me out of the gutter. It was only a slight chance, but I was in no position to miss any chance.

The small man cocked his head and smiled. "I am like a swordsmith," he stated, "If a good swordsmith finds the perfect block of raw steel he knows he can forge it to a perfect blade. But without the swordsmith the steel will always be nothing but a crude block of steel."

I did not understand him. Something must have given away my confusion for he tried again to explain himself: "I've seen you play the violin. You tune it. If you would find the perfect violin and find out that is not properly tuned, would you feel the need to tune it?"

"Of course!" I answered before I could stop myself.

"Then consider yourself a good, but horribly untuned, instrument. Allow me to tune you."

"I still do not understand why you would do that for me? What do you hope to gain?" I answered, knowing fully well that nothing is for nothing.

He smiled at me and answered sadly: "One day you will find the perfect instrument and cringe when you hear it horribly off-tune. You will feel the need to tune it. Then you will understand."

His cryptic messages sounded much more like fortune-telling than wisdom to me at that time, but I agreed, willing to take the risk of having to pay a yet unknown price. He told me he would get the Englishman to give me a job. He had watched me in the market and he had seen me as a thief, he knew I spoke several languages and his employer needed someone who could translate for him. A perfect job for me - if there was not my face. I told him about my need to cover my face and before I could react he had snatched my veil away. He didn't flinch, he didn't show any emotion. "You are handicapped," he stated, "But I think we will find a way to use your weakness to your advantage."

"I already do know!" I snapped angrily, "I was called 'the Living Corpse' and I used that for being a magician."

"I see why..." he answered dryly, "Get your luggage, come back here at three o'clock. Do not dress as woman. Hide your face, if you must, but wear your most elegant suit. Don't speak unless spoken to. Let me do the talking, I don't want you to ruin it."

I promised to be there.

When I came back to the little shelter the dancing boy and I... No, I do not remember his name. I never cared much for names, most of them are false anyway. Well, returned to find him on the pile of old newspaper he always slept on. The smell I associated with him then was overpowering, the stench of smoke from his opium-pipe and faeces. Usually it was just faint and I have to admit my own hygiene left much to be desired, but that morning it was just disgusting.

He woke up when I changed my clothes. My black suit was dirty and crumpled, but I could do nothing about that now. I put on shirt, suit, mask and hat and my shoes. I looked like a boy from an elegant family who had fallen into a dunghill. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Away."

"Wait, I just get my..." he said and looked around for his pipe and his shoes.

"No!"

"What do you mean 'no'?" he asked confused, then an unbelieving realization crept into his dark eyes: "You aren't leaving me, are you?"

"Precisely." My answers were taciturn. I didn't want to speak more than absolutely necessary.

"Why? What have I done?" he asked, crying like the small boy that he was.

"Nothing. I no longer need you, that's all. Face it, boy, life is rugged," I snapped, concealing my guilty conscience behind aggression and cynicism. He was crying now and in his dark eyes that shed tears over his beautiful face I saw my own sorrow at being abandoned. He lay there, on the filthy pile of old newspaper, stinking of smoke and faeces, but he was nevertheless beautiful. Really. He looked like a prince in an oil-painting. Too beautiful to be real. I took my pocket knife from my pocket and threw it at his feet. "Do yourself in, for all I care!" I spat and left him.

Ugh. Yes, now that I think of it it makes me sick. God, I wish I could forget his face and his sad dark eyes that had seen so much more than anyone should ever have to see. Back then I thought I was just doing what needed to be done and felt very grown-up. It was I who abandoned him and it made me feel powerful. I do not know what became of him, but a seven year old opium addicted street boy has no chance to ever grow up, not really, and for me there was a chance to rise up from the gutter. Or I was going to be enslaved again, abused, used. That was the risk and I took it.

I had no watch so I was just there from early morning. Waiting at the building site, watching them work. When the Englishman and his little servant approached, I got up and went to them, took my hat off and bowed deeply to him. The little man frowned, obviously I had just done something unexpected. But he reacted really fast and started to explain to his employer that he had seen me play the violin and do magic tricks in the market and knew I spoke several languages. He said that in a cheerfully childish tone as if he just wanted to amuse his master. Well, he was good in pushing his master to make the decisions he wanted and the clever little fellow even made it look like it had been the Englishman's own decision.

The Englishman fancied himself a collector. A collector of curiosities. Again, I was just another curiosity in a sideshow, but it was a more elegant audience I would have to entertain. That man collected human oddities, or what he considered human curiosities, and hired them as servants. No payment in money, of course, but a bed and clothing and three meals a day. Plus, I got to use a bathroom regularly. I loved having a hot bath so using a bathroom, scented soap and towels... that sounded great as well as sleeping in a bed and having three meals a day. Three meals! What wasteful luxury!

I used my false name "Erik Ami Hein" and soon I became his translator in almost everything. He loved to show off his new "prized pet" - for that was what I really was to him. And I got to eat three meals a day, wear nice, clean clothes and sleep in a soft bed each night. Even the rooms for his servants were what I regarded pure luxury that time. I shared a room with my little teacher, we had a bunk bed, a table with two chairs and a cupboard. In that floor all servants lived and we had to share the bathroom and the toilet, but it could be locked! You can't imagine how glad I was to be able to have some privacy.

I was a well-trained monkey he could show off to his guests, all rich people from all over the world. I had to entertain them with music, my violin and a piano, with magic tricks and I had to translate for them very often. And he loved to shock his guests by telling me to take off my mask. It highly amused him to see them gasp and gag, women faint and men choking on their drink. It was the same as before, only on a higher level. And yes, I once told him that my stage name hand been "the Living Corpse" and that was what he called me when he made me take off my mask.

And all the time I could not forget that poor boy's dark eyes. They haunted me each night, no matter what I tried to forget him. It became better over the years, but there are times when I hear my cruel words "do yourself in, for all I care" and see him staring at me with so much pain...

Now look what you made me do! I drained the whole bottle of wine alone and it is all your fault! No? Why, of course it is your fault! You could have joined me for at least one glass. I shouldn't have bought it? Who said I actually BOUGHT it? Well, yes, I did buy it, don't worry, I'm just teasing you. I better go before I make a fool of myself in my drunken stupor. Next time... ooops, sorry, I didn't... Great. Next time I just do not bring anything, I guess that will be better.

What? O, I know you liked the apples and the apple pie. Was that an invitation? Haha. Of course I accept, gladly. And yes, I will bring another apple pie if you are so fond of it. Goodnight, my friend.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Okay, a bit background information:_

 _Palermo, Catacombe dei Cappuccini: h+t+t+p+s+:+/+/+en+.+wiki+pedia+.+org+/+wiki+/+Catacombe_dei_Cappuccini - or you just g+o+o+g+l+e the pictures. ;-)_

 _Extinguish the candle, candle-eating and dice box and guess-the-card-trick: They work. I regularly used them._

 _Pakistan didn't exist that time. It was all "India" and India was a british colony (annexed in the 1820s). Lahore was the capital city of the province Pundjap._

 _Bacha bazi:_ _h+t+t+p+s+:+/+/+en+.+wiki+pedia+.+org+/+wiki+/+Bacha_bazi_ _\- I know, child abuse happens in all countries and all nationalities, all religions. It just was not practiced that openly as in Afghanistan. Therefor I chose this dancing boy as an example - his story is purely fictional, but it puts together different real biographies._

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Thank you for reading and please review. The next chapter will take a bit longer, I'm afraid, due to the Christmas holidays._


	6. No Honor, No Name, No Country

**HEART O HEART CONVERSATION**

 **No Honour, No Name, No Country**

GOOD Morning! Haha, I startled you. You would never have guessed I might come at daytime, did you? Surprise! Today is a holiday, so yes, I can risk it. I'm sorry, no apples today. But I baked bread. See? It is still warm. I love this sort of bread, it is hard to find in France, but baking a loaf of bread only for myself is not much fun. But to share it with someone... yes, then it is worth the trouble.

No wine today. No. The hangover last time was enough, thank you. I don't need that again so soon.

I knew you would like the bread.

Living in the house of the English merchant in India was really something I liked. Of course he did show off his private little freakshow and I was somehow the most valuable piece of his collection for I was not only a curiosity from a foreign country - he assumed I was from India and did never even suspect I was a European - I was horribly disfigured and he never tired of shocking his guests with my appearance, especially after I entertained them at dinner with polite conversation and music and magic. He experimented a little with my clothing and finally came to the conclusion that if I appeared dressed like any European gentleman - looking very normal except for the mask - and then showed my face the effect was the best. Everyone expected the mask to be just for show and I would be normal underneath.

He dressed me like orchestra musicians would dress in Europe. Black tuxedo, white shirt, white necktie, shining black shoes. Reminds you of something? Really? At least I know a good idea if I see one. This was not my idea, but I liked the fact that I looked like a gentleman and with the perfect behaviour I had learned from Jose and Henry I was treated kindly by all his guests - unless the blasted unmasking was required. The other curiosities were the Chinese cook - that was the little man who was so agile - and the negro man-eater who was now "tamed" and a manservant at the dinners... Well, he was no cannibal. He had never eaten human flesh and he was no bounty hunter or whatever. He had been a slave who was bought by the Englishman, he had been enslaved under the accusation of cannibalism. The funny thing about him was that he was Christian, always had been. Someone in his country had heard him speak the words of the Holy Communion, "precious blood of Christ" and "body of Christ" and this had been mistaken for him eating a human being. Or maybe this was just a lame excuse to enslave him from the Arab slave-traders.

There were the Arabian belly dancers and the fakir. Not so large, his little freakshow, the other servants were normal people, most of them from India.

The fakir was mo real fakir. No real fakir would join a freak show, they were worshiped like saints by the natives. This was just a skinny old man who had figured out how to pose as fakir to fool stupid Europeans who couldn't tell the difference. I once tried his bed of nails. Once you know how to lie down, everyone can do so. It is not painful, unless you are heavier than 70 kilogram. I guess you better not try it.

Well, I actually wanted to tell you about this "Chinese cook". He was no cook and he was no Chinese. As he explained, all barbarians - he considered Europeans and all other people barbarians - were too stupid to tell the difference. We were sitting on my bed in our little room when we had the conversation that was my first lecture.

"Never trust your eyes, Erik, for they just show you what others want you to see," he said and I nodded. I knew that. It was the same with a magic show. "Everyone thinks I am Chinese, just because I tell them I was. I am not. I am Japanese."

I had never even heard of Japan. Of course not, it was an island like England but it forbid any foreigner to enter - at death penalty. And since they considered it the most beautiful, most civilized, most harmonic country in the world, why would anyone leave it?

"But you did," I pointed out.  
"Not on my free will," he confessed, "You see, I made a grave mistake and was forced to flee." We spent the next weeks with him talking about his native country. He was a very good storyteller and he was an artist - he could draw in a way I never could. He would draw something with his pen, show it to me and explain it, then burn it. He told me to be very careful for what he was teaching me was strictly forbidden, it would cost both our lives if we were ever found out. But his sketches - he never used dividers or a ruler and yet his sketches matched the precision of any blueprint! If I had thought Ivan had been one to insist on precision and perfection, I now learned that this man had a completely different level. Perfection was the least he expected, his demands were... no one would ever accomplish such perfection. But that did not hinder him from trying.

"What is your name then, if "Chang Lee" is just an alias?" I asked. He suddenly grew very quiet.  
"Erik, you have to understand that I do not have a name or a country or honor. No honor, no name, no country. I am a ghost, I am Shinobi."  
As if I had known what a Shinobi might be. Of course not. He explained it like this: Shinobi are more or less spies and assassins. Some call them Ninja. He was form the Japanese province Iga and this was the heartland of this ancient art. You see, in Japan everything can be a high art. They would not just drink tea, no, you need a tea master who studied for decades before he was allowed to make tea for guests. Making tea is an art, entertaining at parties is an art, fighting is an art - just everything is art. You can't just sit in a garden, gardening is an art, arranging flowers is an art, and sitting in the garden and enjoying a nice spring day - of course they make a huge ceremony out of that. At least in the way he told me about his native land.

I guess not everyone there lived like that. But what he told me of the things a Shinobi could do - it was magic. They literally could make themselves invisible, well, not really invisible, but everyone would overlook them. He drew a sketch of a blueprint to show me how they would build a house. It looked like a small farmhouse but it was... a clever defense machine. It was full of traps, trapdoors, secret passageways, hidden storerooms for weapons of all kinds... God, that was just great. The walls seemed to be straight, but they weren't. Change the angle just one degree, normally this is overlooked by all people, and you get enough space for hiding inside a wall that seems to be far too small for even a slender cat to hide. I wondered why he told me all these things instead of starting my training - I had seen him move and wanted to learn that. So I asked him and he laughed.

"Stupid boy! This IS the training I am giving you! Fighting is all good and well, but the best fight is always the one you do NOT have to fight," he told me, not angrily, more amused. Now I understood a bit better what he was doing. He was teaching me not only how to defend myself but he was teaching me so much more - how to become invisible, overlooked, a mere ghost. And the sketches of the castles and fortresses he made, with their tactical defense system, the visible one and the invisible one, I was so excited. He made a sketch, allowed me to study it, then he burned it and told me to draw a copy. We started with simple things, a shack, a farm-cottage, a barn or something like that, and once I mastered that we moved on to larger farmhouses and their surroundings until we ended up with large fortresses. Of course this was something I learned over years of practice, but my natural ability to remember everything I saw was of great help, even if I have to admit that I often made mistakes and he would mock me or punish me for not concentrating on the lectures.

The Englishman had a riding hall behind the stable. You had to go through the stable to reach the riding hall. And at night no one would be there and the horses would warn us of anyone approaching. So we used the riding hall to practice the actual fighting skills. My first lecture was to stand upright.

"I can stand on my feet," I retorted, a bit angry.  
"Really, can you?" he asked, smiling. One small movement of his hand and I was on my knees before him. "I thought you can stand?"  
"You pushed me!"  
"Ah yes, I did. It is easy to stand when no one tries to bring you down. But you have to remain on your feet when everyone else is trying hard to force you to your knees," he lectured. I got up and tried again, this time I was prepared for the push - and he just pulled, I stumbled, but did not fall.  
"One finger," he said, holding up his index finger. And then he showed me how he could bring me down with just one finger. Again and again I fell, he knew exactly how to hurt me. He poked with one finger at a certain spot on my body, he called these spots "atemi", and it hurt like hell. But he showed me how to use them, which point would do what to the opponent. One small poke to a certain spot and the opponent would not be able to breathe for a few moments, would slow down in the movement of his arms, would lose his body tension or just fall to the ground because his leg gave way.

At daytime we slept much. We became notorious for sleeping all day, everyone considered us lazy. Of course, all they saw was that we had to work twice a month at dinner parties, or me maybe two or three afternoons translating between the Englishman and his architect and his master mason, no one knew we were up all night practicing, learning, training. Once I had understood his concept of standing, he started to stretch my muscles and tendons until I could not hold in my cries of pain.

"Die silently!" he commanded. I didn't answer, I couldn't. I was lying on my stomach, my legs turned backwards so my heels were on my back and he was standing on my legs. It hurt like hell and I could barely breathe. "Or better - now training, dying later, after the lesson," he added with a chuckle. This was his normal sense of humor.

One evening he told me that the great masters had such a concentration and strong mind, they could hear a needle fall. I obviously was not properly impressed for he snapped at me that I didn't pay attention to him teaching me.  
"If it is quiet enough, everyone can hear a needle falling," I answered.  
He laughed. "Stupid boy! This is a rare ability not even every master ever acquires. And you, who knows nothing at all, think you can do that? Seldom have I seen such arrogance!"  
I did not back down. I knew I could hear a needle falling and told him I would prove him wrong. He got a needle and sat on the stone-floor, telling me to sit with my back to him. He blindfolded me. Then I heard him sitting down behind me, telling me to concentrate and raise my hand whenever I would hear the needle hit the floor.  
I heard the needle and waived my hand. I could hear the cotton of his shirt rustle, then it was quiet again, I guess he had picked the needle up. I waited for what seemed to be hours, then I heard the needle fall again.  
The third try was interrupted because someone said something in the next room.  
Then I heard the needle fall again.  
I have no idea how long we played that game. Finally he moved towards me, I clearly heard the light rustle of his clothes, and turned round to catch his hand as he reached out for me.  
He was startled as I - still blindfolded - pushed his hand aside.  
"You really heard the needle," he stated and I could tell by his voice that he could barely believe it, "You even heard me. I was right, you are a natural. It would have been a shame to waste such talent."

From that day on my exercise became even more trying and he was a really demanding teacher.

I was certainly not talented when it came to fight with bare fists and feet. I needed weeks until I was able to make a fist properly. Well, and his training... whenever I thought I would faint he told me to double body-tension, speed and precision. I do not know how many times my stomach heaved and I was retching from overexcertion. He did never allow me to sit down or to drink - oh, he had a bottle of water, but to reach it I would have to fight him. Tell him? HA! If I asked for a break or a drink of water he would only make my excercise harder. His only answer was that in a real fight I would never have any chance to ask for a little respite. I had just two options - win or die. Better get used to it. He even taught me to fight without being able to breathe. Do you know how long 30 seconds are when you have a rope around your neck and can't breathe? But it is a very good training. Really. Normally everyone just panics, I do not, I function normally for at least 30 seconds. That can be enough to save my life.

Some might say that India has a very hot climate. This is not true in autumn and winter. It can be very cold. And it was cold, especially at night in the riding hall. My teachers solution was to give me a healthy warm up that left me breathless and covered in sweat before we even begun the real training. While I was practicing whatever he told me to he would distract me with questions about trapdoors, hiding places, defense systems and so on, about masquerading and concealing the identity, about tools that could save my life one day, about strategies and mind-games. It was very hard and every morning when everyone got up I just collapsed on my bed, unable to eat breakfast, too exhausted to even think of undressing, no matter I was covered in the dust from the riding hall, you know, that normal mix of sand, horse-droppings and urine, but mostly just sand.

Well, when the weather was quite cold I started to knit a new knit cap for me, one that would look like a sack over my head with only two holes for the eyes. It was some combination between mask and knit cap. Chang - since he never told me his real name I called him Chang - watched me curiously. I always felt uncomfortable when he was doing that, so I asked why he stared at me.  
"What are you doing?" he asked.  
"Knitting a woolen cap because it is cold," I answered.  
He gently took the knitting needles and studied them. You see, I did not have normal knitting needles, I had a circular knitting needle, that is two needles connected with a wire. He handed them back, nodding happily.  
"Knitting needles. A harmless game for little girls. And yet these make a fine garotte. This proves my master right - everything can be a weapon if you know how to use it," he mused. I have to admit that I did not understand him at that time. My head was swimming with different ways to cover trapdoors and mechanisms to open them no one would even recognize as a lock unless he knew exactly what he was looking for.

That night I had to entertain at a dinner party. The Englishman wanted to show off his special servants again. I had a terrible cough - I guess due to the training in the cold hall - and could not sing. But singing had become more and more difficult that autumn and I didn't know why. It was as if my voice no longer obeyed me. I could sing, yes, but it was incredibly hard so I was glad I had that cough and could excuse myself from singing. I was playing the piano and a belly dancer was dancing. This was nothing I had not seen before but that evening I suddenly noticed that her orange silk dress was almost transparent. It revealed much more of her muscular body than a boy my age should see. Well, not that I had never seen naked women before, but it had never bothered me the way it did that evening.

I broke into prespiration, my breathing was out of control, I was breathing hard as if I was undergoing physical exercise and sweat was tickling down my neck under my long hair, my hands were sweaty and I felt my body growing hot as if I had high fever. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on my music, but I still could see her almost naked body and her fast moving hips with closed eyes. My fingers touched the wrong keys, the melody was interrupted and I tried to continue playing but it was impossible. My hard breathing caused a horrible coughing fit, I was sure I would suffocate. I was not even able to excuse myself, I got up and fled from the room to the next restroom. Usually we servants were not allowed to use the restrooms for the Englishman and his guests, but I was sure I was going to be sick any moment now, I had no choice.

"Erik?" I heard Chang behind me. I was kneeling next to the sink, my mask off, coughing and spitting mucus. He gently pulled back my loose hair to make it easier for me as my stomach turned and I was sick.

These coughing fits could make my stomach turn, this was normal, I was used to it. And yes, that time I had long brown hair. My hair was like a shaggy mane around my head because I could not cut it myself and I had no one who ever did it for me. Baldness was something I only got later. At the age of fourteen I had much hair, but it never was beautiful. It was a shaggy mane and no matter how much I tried it would remain shaggy.

"I guess you better go to bed, I'll give them your apologies," Chang said worriedly. I just nodded and went to bed obediently. I was not that tired, I seriously expected him to give me another training that night, but breathing was not easy and I was glad that I had been spared the humiliation of the unmasking.

Chang came to our room soon after I had covered myself with my blanket. He allowed his face to show worry as he touched my neck, checking pulse and temperature. "No fever," he observed, "But the pulse is racing."  
I nodded and looked away. I had no idea what was happening to me and what caused that.  
"Try to sleep," he advised and I closed my eyes.

I must have drifted off to sleep for I dreamed that I was back at the party, the girl was dancing again in that flimsy orange dress and again I stared at her. I just stood there, staring at her, taking in every detail of her body, from her dark eyes with those incredibly long lashes, the raven black hair, the full breasts... and my body grew hot again, my breathing quickened and I felt a traction in my lower abdomen. I looked down and noticed I was naked and everyone was staring at me. A horrible nightmare, I woke breathless and soaked with sweat.

For a moment I just lay there, trying to control my breathing. With a sigh I got up, I needed to go to the restroom. When I got up I noticed horrified that my pants were wet. God, I was fourteen years old, it was a few days after my birthday and it had been years since the last time I had wet the bed in my sleep. And now? Now I woke with my pants wet. And my teacher was in the upper bed, luckily he had chosen the upper one, I didn't even dare to think what might have happened if he had chosen the other bed. I didn't understand how something horrible like that could have happened again. I was so ashamed and hoped I could change the sheets without waking him up.

Of course he woke up. He lit a candle and looked at me as I stood there, clutching the sheets before my lower stomach, trying to hide the shameful wetness, my head down, red with shame. He got up and grabbed my wrist, forcing me to let go of the sheets. I was crying with shame when he saw the wetness between my legs. He didn't mock me or berate me. He just nodded and said: "Congratulations. You're no longer a child."

"WHAT?" I gasped, not understanding what was going on.  
"Go wash yourself, then I explain it to you," he commanded gently.

First I cleaned myself, changed my trousers and got new sheets. You see, there was no running water in that house. There was a well in the backyard, I would have to go down there, fetch a bucket of water, go to the servant's bathroom to have a wash and the used water would run through a pipe to the streets. All dirty water just ended on the streets. The toilets were latrines, the servant's restrooms just had wooden boxes with buckets, the gentleman's were marble sinks - and the bucket would be in the room below, out of his sight. I do not know if he even knew how his toilets worked and that he needed servants to clean the buckets regularly.

When I was finished cleaning myself up, Chang and I sat on my bed and he patiently explained to me that I didn't need to worry my bed-wetting problem had returned - I was just growing up. He considered me a grown man now for I would be able to father a child.  
When he said that I broke down sobbing. "I don't want to be a man!" I cried, "I don't want to be a man!"  
This surprised him. Normally boys can't wait to grow up. I didn't. I told him what I knew of men and how easy it was to shut down their capacity for logic just by pretending to be a girl flirting with them. "I do not want to be a man!" I cried out, "I do not want someone else to control my thinking, I do not want to stay that small forever!" Yes, I was rather small for a fourteen years old boy and I had hoped I would grow up to be tall because my parents had been tall, or at least I remembered them to be tall.

"Stupid boy," Chang laughed, "Stupid, stupid Erik. No one can control you, you can control that urge. As long as you control it, no one can use it against you. And for your height... maybe you will grow even more now?"  
"But I am a dwarf!" I cried, "Just an ugly, disgusting, deformed dwarf! No one will ever like me! What good is the ability to father a child when I am just an unloved dwarf no woman can stand my sight without being sick!" I threw the pillow against the wall in my despair.  
"O my stupid Erik," he sighed and shook his head, picked up the pillow and handed it to me.  
I flung myself belly down on my bed, my face pressed into the pillow, crying myself to sleep.

Another nightmare had just begun.

My body started to grow fast, weakening my health and by Christmas I had gained five centimeters in height and was bed-ridden with lung infection. I have to say that I am grateful to the Englishman. He did not throw me out although he could not use me for his Christmas Celebration as he had intended to do - I was too busy trying not to suffocate. He allowed me to stay in bed and I got three meals a day. I would not have survived the winter in Lahore without his help.

My body changed so much, and that shameful urge came back regularly. Far too often for my taste. I knew that if I had been a gypsy I would have been married by now, so that would be normal, if I had been a normal working-class boy I would have my girlfriend and if I would have been a son of a noble family I would now be introduced to the secrets of love by a woman of questionable reputation. But nothing like that for Erik. For me there was only the degrading secret self-abuse locked in the toilet for that was the only room to guarantee the necessary minimum of privacy and afterwards the gnawing shame.

O, I'm sorry. Did I offend you? Sorry. I didn't mean to. I just... I need to unburden myself somehow and I was told talking to someone helps. Please tell me if it becomes too much for you to bear. No? Thank you. I really appreciate your help. You are a very good friend, thank you.

More bread? Wow, I guess we are going to eat all of it today if we continue like that.

Soon after Christmas I got better, but my voice was gone. First I thought his was a side-effect of my illness, but it wasn't. My voice was gone and did not return, no matter what herbal teas and portions I tried. I was devastated. My voice was the only beauty I had - and now it was gone.

In retrospect I have to admire Chang's patience dealing with my crying fits. They happened far too often, as well as my temper tantrums. As a child it had been easy to obey and to do what I was told, I had been eager to please and - as unlikely as it seemed - I had accepted my fate. Not now. Now I questioned everything for everything seemed to be so useless, unimportant and not worth my time.

I guess every adolescent boy has a time when he thinks himself ugly, unloved and does not want to live any longer. But I knew for sure that I was the ugliest man in the world and no one would ever love me. My body changed for the worse, especially my skin. It started with itching pimples at my forehead. I guess I do not have to say that wearing a mask did nothing to help - on the contrary, I kept popping the pimples or just scratching them through the fabric of my mask. And then the next day I had even more of them. And more and more. And not only my forehead was covered with itching pimples, no, my neck, my shoulders, my breast and my back too.

In spring when the weather was growing warm again, the building site required more attention. It was just month before that palace - I can't call it something else because it was a palace - was finished and the Englishman needed me more often to translate something for him. He found out I could speak many languages, I could read them, but writing was almost impossible. You see, no one had ever bothered to teach me spelling. I simply did not know. I could read even Russian and with great difficulty, Arabian letters, but I could not spell correctly. I have to admit, spelling still is not my strong side.

My life was a horrible chaos then. My hygiene had improved much since I was no longer living on the streets, but my skin condition worsened with each day. Of course I was not the only boy with itching pimples, I saw many children my age, but not one had such a horrible skin as I. I was working each day as translator, I had to entertain the guests twice a month and I had to practice each night - and I asked myself what for. Why do I subject myself to so much pain? What for? Only to wake up and suffer the same torment the next day and the day after - and if I would run away, my life would be even worse. So what was I fighting for? My future looked bleak to say the least. I would never be anything but an unloved, lonely circus freak.

Maybe my life was too easy that time - I never had any time to worry about the future before, I had always been too busy to survive the day, to get some food and sleep, but now that my basic needs were no longer a problem I had time for luxury problems.

I know. Most boys think running away would make their lives better. I knew perfectly well I would end up in the streets again and that would be far worse. My clothes were suddenly too short, as well as my shoes, I was growing fast and my joints hurt with every movement. I was constantly tired and I could not find the strength to do anything. Even Chang could not cheer me up or get me interested in another lecture.

No, I did not refuse. Never. I still did as I was told to do, because I knew perfectly well that I had no choice. I dreaded the life as a street kid now that I knew the luxury of three meals a day and a warm bed to sleep in. But I started to ask myself what I was fighting for.

Chang told me it was absolutely normal for a boy my age to feel ugly and unloved, he should not have said that, for it caused another temper tantrum, I was crying and yelling at him at the same time, if he had not been such a great fighter I might even have injured him. I remember putting up quite a fight in my anger at his comment and finally lying sobbing in the sand of the riding hall, my face in his lap, his hands soothingly caressing my back.

"Why do you tell me every boy feels unloved and ugly? I know for sure that I am the ugliest boy in the world! I know for sure that I am the most hated boy in the world, no one ever loved me and no one ever will! Why should I endure hellish torment each day, only to suffer more the next? Why can't I just die?" I sobbed into the folds of his shirt.

"My stupid Erik," he sighed, "There are so many reasons to live."  
"Name one," I retorted sulkily, I was sure he would not find one reason for me to live.  
"Teaching," he answered, "Teaching what you know. That is much better than love, love is treacherous. Love turns men into fools. You do not need to love or to be loved to find peace."  
"But what's in for ME?" I asked, calming down a bit, "I give a damn on the world or the greater good - what is in for me? What can I gain?"  
A heavy sigh told me that this was almost the exact opposite of what he had wanted to hear from me. "O Erik," he sighed again, "You have a very long way to go before you understand. Do you really think anything you posses can give you the peace of mind you wish for? You only find the peace of mind if you rid yourself of all desires and accept your fate with stoic indifference."

Great. As if such wisdom would ever help a despairing fourteen year old child. But I had calmed down enough to feel ashamed of myself and the shameful display I made of my sorrow.

"O Erik, you concentrate far too much on what you do not have than on the good things you have."

"Nothing! I have nothing, I am nothing, I will never have anything and nobody will ever respect me!" I spat sulkily.

He let go of me and bowed to me. He really bowed to me. Since I was his pupil he had taught me how to bow properly to show my respect for my teacher in his culture. And now he bowed to me. My tears stopped and I sniffed, wiping my missing nose with my sleeve.

"I respect you," he said, "Am I nobody?"  
I panicked, threw myself at his feet in the gesture of self-degradation he had shown me as appropriate to beg forgiveness for offending a teacher. You see, a teacher is highly respected in his culture, some are worshiped like kings, they have a nearly religious status. Being disrespectful would cost my head, had we been in his country. I didn't want him to stop my education, I have to admit that I highly respected him and, yes, that I loved him. "Forgive me, SENSEI," I whispered, for the first time using the title he had told me a teacher, a master, would be called by his pupils. And it was so easy to be disrespectful in his always-striving-for-harmony culture - every tiny gesture could be interpreted as disrespect. Voicing another opinion was disrespect, saying no a horrible offence.

"You are forgiven," he said, waiving his hand, indicating it was nothing at all, "Now, back to our lesson. Try to move through the horse stable without alarming the horses."

It was no trial. The horses knew me and did not pay attention. They were used to me coming to the stable every so often, just to caress their soft noses and feed them stale bread. I always loved horses. Horses are beautiful animals. And of course no one knew that I would sometimes get one of them out of the box and practice a bit in the riding hall at night. With the balance and body tension - kime - my teacher had trained me I was even able to stand on a horse when it moved. Well, not in gallop and surely not in trod, but in walk. But I could do it at all, which was a great achievement.

Except my sudden mood-swings and my constant feeling like the worst piece of crap my life was not bad then. It is a miracle I managed to control my emotions, which were constantly in a turmoil, when I was around the Englishman and his guests and business partners. I was a professional, I could do my magic show and my music no matter what I felt. But the unmasking was even more humiliating now that my skin condition was so bad. You see, with my face covered the only problem was the itching. But with the mask off everyone saw not only my horrible face but purulent pimple, some of them open, purulence oozing out of open wounds, sore spots where I had scratched myself too much. Yes, some of the wounds in my face, my neck and my upper torso even got infected in the heat of the summer, when the temperature was at about 45 degree Celsius and I kept myself constantly covered.

You might not believe there was something worse looking than my face is now - but there was. It was my face with infected lacerations and stinking purulence oozing out of them. Keeping my face constantly covered made it even worse, in the wetness of my sweat the infections grew worse. Chang was the first one to tell me that we needed to change something or I would lose too much of the flesh of my face to the infections. He told me I needed to clean the wounds in my face, my neck, my back and my breast and give them time to heal, keeping them dry so I would not risk re-infection. I would get nasty scars from what I already had done to myself, but if I would not allow my skin to heal I might lose pieces of flesh or worse. I might literally have my skin and my flesh rot away.

I didn't care. At that time my favourite answer to everything was "Who cares? I don't give a damn shit!". It was a quite adequate expression of my feelings at that time.

Chang slapped me. He slapped me so hard I found myself on the floor at his feet when I was woke up again. "I care, stupid boy!" he snapped, "Don't you dare question me!"

Sometimes I think he should have hit me more often. I deserved it for my really childish behaviour. Somehow I was more childish with fourteen than the year before. And I was a bit more than ten centimeters taller.

Somehow he persuaded the Englishman to send for a doctor, a European doctor, to see if he could help me. The doctor first nearly fainted when he saw me. He thought it must hurt horribly, but it was absolutely painless. It was just the itching that drove me crazy. The doctor had no real cure for me, he just told me that pimples were normal for a boy that age - I really hated this "this is normal for a boy that age" phrase for no one could even begin to understand what I was going through at that time - and I would have to expose my skin to air and keep it dry and clean. First he gave me pure alcohol to disinfect my wounds. That hurt.

I was forced to clean my skin with a cloth with pure alcohol, and I had to use a mirror to do it properly. You can't imagine what I was going through each day. After one week I did not want to live any longer. I went to the riding-hall at night, saying good-by to the horses, then I climbed up one of the roof trusses and secured a rope there. I made a noose - not a real hangman's noose, but that would do - slipped it over my head and sat at the roof-truss, ready to jump. I was crying, I was desperate, I was helpless. And somehow I thought what might happen after my death and realized with horror that no one would bemoan my death. I would just be cut down, my corpse thrown away like any animals and everyone would forget me. I didn't want this. Somehow I wanted that if I was dead at least one person would feel the loss. After some time I took off the noose, cut the rope and climbed down again to sneak back into my bed, ashamed of my cowardice. My hand touched my tattoo "Never say die", but it would have been a lie to say I didn't kill myself because I remembered my pact with Karl or anything else - it was just cowardice. Shameful, despicable cowardice.

Of course Chang found out. I have never been good in hiding anything from him. He had a different view on suicide than anyone else. To him suicide could be an honorable way to end one's life, if it was done the right way and out of the right motive. But suicide out of despair and fear was not something acceptable.

"Erik, tell me what I do wrong?" he asked to my great surprise. Of course he did nothing wrong. "But if I do nothing wrong, why do you want to kill yourself? Am I such a bad teacher?"  
"It has nothing to do with you - it is just me. Chang-sensei, I am grateful for what you are doing for me but... don't you see that I can't endure any more pain? I can't! I have to see my face each day in a mirror, I can't hide it, but I am still forced to perform as a magician and musician. I... I have to play music seeing the girls dancing, knowing they will never allow me to touch them, but they are driving me mad with their bloody belly dancing! Only a week ago a woman vomited seeing my naked face. There is no hope at all my life would ever be better, no matter how hard I try, and I am so tired of trying. I am so weary, I don't want it. I just want to lie down and have peace."

"O my stupid Erik," he sighed, but this time it made me mad. I yelled at him and attacked him. I should have known better. With all the strength and agility I already possessed that time he just needed one tiny move of his hand and I was immobilized standing there, unable to move. The pen he had in his hand pressed painfully against a certain spot at my jaw.

"You call THAT an attack?" he mocked, "Come to the riding-hall! NOW! We practice!" That night he made me practice until I passed out in the sand of the riding hall.

What shall I tell you? My skin condition got better now that I kept myself clean. I had to wash trice a day, change my shirt and my mask. I would wash my clothes in boiling water to stop my wounds from constantly re-infecting. It helped, to a certain degree - the pimples did not go away.

I could not wear my old shoes now, they were too small, and my shirts and trousers were too short, but I could wear them nevertheless. Only now the Englishman noticed that I was growing. He stared at my naked ankles as I stood there, bare-footed playing the violin while he was busy with another of his collections - stones. He had so many stones, most of them simply stones, some really gem stones and some semiprecious-stone. He was constantly re-arranging his collection and he loved to have me standing there, playing the violin for him.

"Are you still growing?" he asked, a surprised undertone in his voice.  
"I am," I answered, without interrupting my music. It was easy to play when no naked girls were there to distract me.  
"Just how old are you?"  
"In five month fifteen," I answered.

He stared at me. "You are a child," he observed. I let out an annoyed grunt. I did not like being called a child any more. "I hadn't known that," he mused, "When you play music or show your magic - you seem to be so much older."

"I am a magician - nothing is as it seems to be," I answered cryptically, trying to stay true to my role. But my voice was out of control. Voice break. I blushed with shame for my voice suddenly was high-pitched and a bit raspy.

He sighed. "I guess you need new clothes," he said. Just like that. And the next day he told a seamstess to take my measures for a new suit.

She was a young woman in a sari - you know, a sari, these long clothes women in India wear traditionally. As a pariah she was not allowed to wear a blouse under her sari, so... You can't imagine the effect it had on me. She did show disgust. She was from a Pariah family that usually earned their livelihood collecting carcasses and corpses and disposing of them or carrying buckets with human faeces out of the house. So touching a rotting carcass or touching me must have been much the same to her, but still she showed her disgust and fear quite unashamed.

As much as it hurt me to see her shuddering in disgust as she took my measures, my body surely had other plans. The delicate hands of this young woman touched my hips and I felt as if a jolt of electricity running through my hips. I winced and retreated, telling her not to touch me. She did not understand English and we were alone in that room. She stared at me, her eyes wide in fear, I backed away until my back hit the wall, and stared down at my own body. Of course I wore a mask, a shirt and my trousers. Did you think I would ever allow a woman to see me naked? My reaction was... premature to say the least. I stood there, not understanding what was happening, my physical reaction disgusting and shocking me. Of course I had seen men and women making love, even men and boys, but this... I had never expected my body would react like that to the touch of a woman, especially when I saw her disgust at having to touch me.

My... condition... did not go unnoticed. She screamed something. I didn't understand, maybe she was screaming something like "help", maybe she was just telling me to stay away from her. And I was in the middle of a terrible hubbub before I had any chance to gather my bearings. Some of the Indian servants yelled at me, some at her. The woman was a sobbing mess and I tried to explain that I had done nothing. At least my fear subdued my rebellious body.

The Englishman never knew about this. He was never to be troubled by the problems of his servants. As I was told later there was a discussion who would be to blame - the woman or I. As a gentleman I should have considered taking the blame for the misunderstanding, but... I was no gentleman at that time. I was too ashamed and too frightened to do anything. Some of the Indian servants said it was her fault - she was a Pariah, worse than that, she was a woman, of course it was her fault. But most of them said I was dangerous and should be cast out. Actually I was dangerous, but they didn't know the real reason why. I was in no way dangerous to any woman of the household, certainly not.

My life became miserable. I had been an outcast before, being just one of the private collection of freaks. But now I was considered dangerous to women. I wasn't. To be true, I was so scared of my reaction to a woman's sight that I tried to avoid them. I was too ashamed to ask my teacher for guidance. He noticed anyway. I could not hide the way I tried NOT to look at the belly dancers at dinners. I could not hide how I lost my skills in playing the violin or doing my magic tricks, how my voice quavered when the belly dancers were dancing. I guess everyone knew to my eternal shame.

I did not understand their language, but I could guess what they said about me. And this time I was scared myself. I did not know what was happening to me, I was scared I might turn out to be the monster everyone feared, the monster whose touch was so horrible, a woman could die of sheer terror. And my... inability to deal with my problem made me aggressive.

I have to thank my kind teacher for teaching me how to channel my frustration and aggression into my practice. He introduced me to weapons now. He had many weapons, he told me their names and the theory how to use them. Then we would practice. Practice, until I dropped to the ground in exhaustion. He never failed to wear me out. And when I was lying in the sand, struggling to catch my breath, he would go on lecturing me as if nothing had happened. His stamina was unbelievable. My greatest victory that time was when he was out of breath after our exercise.

He introduced me to the swords. He had two swords, called katanas. They were the finest steel and the sharpest blades I ever saw. He told me they were made of steel, folded a thousand times. A sword had a name and a soul, but not his. Like himself, his swords would never have a name and he would never tell anyone who forged them. In our training we used wooden sticks. I can tell you, these wooden sticks can hurt badly - I was black and blue all the time, arching terribly, but he didn't give me one day's rest. He had so many weapons, I would never master them all. But he taught me the basics and then watched me carefully, trying to find out which weapons I would like most. His opinion was that the weapon has to be the right partner for the fighter. It is a bit like horse-riding. I would never ride a Shetland pony, it is far too small. I need a horse that matches my height and riding skill. A beginner will never be able to ride an Arab horse. A skilled horseman might find a Noriker horse a bit too calm. The same with weapons - not everyone can master every weapon.

To his great surprise it was a weapon he called "Nagenawa". The Nagenawa is a long rope or wire with stones or metal balls at the end. Sometimes one end is just a stick and the other end a ball as large as a fist. The rope can be short, about 1,5 meters, or long, up to 3,5 meters. It is easy to produce, easy to hide and usually no one even recognizes this as a weapon. Of course the rope can be substituted with a chain, but chains tend to be noisy, so he preferred the rope, a thin rope made of catgut.

The basic principle is easy. You wield it, throw it, and it wraps itself around the neck, the legs, the arms of your opponent. When you aim for the neck very often the weight - stone or metal ball - hits the head of the opponent, knocking him down or at least causing dizziness and headache. In theory. In practice it is not that easy. This weapon fascinated me because it did not look like a weapon at all. And it was far more effective than the silkscarf-and-stone weapon some Indian thugs used. You see, that silk scarf works much the same - but you have to be far closer to the opponent and the silk scarf can only be used when you sneak up on your opponent from behind. The Nagenawa is much more versatile. You can even use it to block a sword or a spear if necessary. You can block almost every weapon with it, except guns. There is no way to block a gunshot, you can just try to evade it, but that is difficult.

And I could wear my Nagenawa openly, pretending it was just a rope I used like a belt with my caftan, or I had it openly in my hand, pretending it to be nothing but a skipping rope. Of course you can use it as skipping rope. I loved multi-purpose weapons that looked so innocent, I loved the blinding powder, the gardening-tools that were such powerful weapons. The swords - they were just for show. The real weapons where the hidden ones.

Magic. It was like a combination of magic and artistry, combined with scientific knowledge and architecture. It was... it was all that and even more.

Yes, as a fourteen year old boy this was just fascinating, even now as a grown man I wonder what I could have learned had I ever had the chance to go to Iga. And this - the knowledge that I would be able to defend myself - gave me a new confidence, a new purpose in my life. I was no longer the frightened child, I was a man and as a man even someone such as I would find some place in life.

Sometimes I think it was too good to be true. It was a stupid mistake on my part that cost me the comfortable job in the English merchant's household.

I was not even fifteen then. I wanted to take a bath and was on my way to the servants bathroom with my bucket of water. Innocent enough, that is. I opened the door - only to see a naked belly dancer standing in the tub with a bucket of water, washing herself. She screamed and I let my bucket fall to the floor. I should have turned away, should have run away, should have closed the door - but I did nothing of that sort. I just stood there, staring like the worst leech, then I reacted to her screams and instead of going away I approached her and put my hand over her mouth. That moment someone, I do not remember who it was, found us. Her screams must have alarmed everyone and now they saw me with my hands on a naked woman.

I assure you, I never even thought about doing anything to her. I just wanted her to shut up. But they did not believe me. They informed the Englishman, who was furious. He did not give me a chance to explain myself, to tell that it was just a mistake and misunderstanding, that I really had not wanted to harm that girl - I just wanted her to stop screaming. He just threw me out of the house. Better than having me arrested, I guess he was just being merciul.

It was autumn, the night bitter cold, and I had nothing but a light caftan and my mask. Everything else was in the house I was now forbidden to enter ever again. I huddled beneath the staircase, seeking shelter, crying, humiliated and ashamed. I do not know how long I had been there, when the gentle voice of my kind teacher broke me out of my crying fit.

He stood there, smiling, two sailor's kitbags in his hands. "And where do we go now?" he asked and I prostrated myself before him, crying and begging his forgiveness.

"You disgraced yourself and you made a terrible mistake," he scolded me.  
"I know. Please believe me - I never even thought about harming her, really!" I tried to explain.  
He shook his head. "Have you learned nothing? Have you forgotten all I ever told you? How could you be that careless? Why didn't you just go away?" I guess he did believe me that it had just been a misunderstanding. But I had no answer for him, for I did not know why I had acted that stupid.

First he beat me up as punishment for my carelessness. I tried to fight back, but against him I didn't stand a chance. When I was lying in the dust, hurt and bleeding, he held out his hand to help me up. "Where are we going now?" he asked.

I could not believe what I heard then. He was coming with me, he was willing to leave his comfortable job to join me on the streets. I bowed deeply to him, trying to express my gratitude.

"My stupid, stupid boy," he sighed - that was his favorite name for me, I was just his stupid boy - "Did you think I trained you nearly one year just to abandon you? You haven't even begun to understand anything, how could I allow you to leave?"

I had to admit that I was scared and had no idea what we could do now. He shrugged it off. "The easy life spoils us completely. We must not allow this," he handed me both bags and just went away, I tried to keep his pace, which was not easy with two heavy bags on my shoulders. "Come on, stupid boy, you have a magic show to do!" he commanded.

Why would I leave him? I owed him my life. He was such a great teacher and he... he was right. There is an emotional bond between a teacher - a master - a Sensei and his pupil. It is hard to describe, it is a bond of respect and loyalty and yes, genuine affection. It is a bit like father and son, but different. You see, no one can choose his father - or his son, that is. You get what you get. But with him - he had chosen me, as I had chosen to be his pupil. I still wish I would know his name, he never told me. To me, he was just "Chang Lee", the Chinese cook, the simple-minded, clumsy old man, as he appeared in public.

It was bitter to live in the streets again, being forced to perform at the market place, more or less begging for money again. My magic show and my music were much better than one year before. But after one year of living in luxury it was so much worse than before. After having a taste of an easy life, going back to do magic shows and play music on the streets every evening, waiting for the audience to give me coins, it was bitter and degrading. Chang never helped me. He just sat there like one of the audience, watching me closely. I had to earn enough for both of us.

We lived in a shoddy caravanserai that time. It was just one large room people shared with horses, donkeys, goats and sheep. A constantly high noise kept us awake the first nights, but then I was so exhausted I slept despite everything. I had to sleep in my mask now that we shared a room with so many other men. Hygiene? No chance! Privacy? Nice dream. We were reduced to relieve ourselves behind the house like everyone else there. You can't imagine the stench we lived in. But we were lucky to have some shelter at all. And we had food. Not enough each day, but we didn't starve.

I paid dearly for my mistake. Changs comment was just: "It's all your fault, you won't get any sympathy from me." He didn't allow me to skip the exercises he had in mind for me. We had no place now, so my training was a bit more... unusual. He told me to sneak into houses and steal something, testing my agility and stealth. And we would continue our fighting practice in the outskirts of Lahore, a bit away from the city, at night. No matter how tired I was, no matter how bad my skin condition was, no matter my body hurt so much I could not walk, sit or lie down without pain. He was a harsh master but I didn't dare complain. I was just a fifteen year old boy and I was working myself to death.

But not everything was bad that winter in Lahore. Chang was always with me. And the less I complained, the more I accepted that rigid discipline and the more I just endured the hardships I faced, I gained his respect. One night I woke, feeling his hand slowly caressing my head and heard him mumble softly: "You are such a brave boy, my poor Erik. I am proud of you. You would deserve to serve a king." I never told him that I heard his words.

I guess it was not such a bad time then. I was not alone. I had someone who genuinely cared for me. He was standing sentinel when I slept, allowing me to rest without fear. Of course he was a demanding teacher and master. But I guess this was exactly what I needed. I didn't have time for crying fits or temper tantrums or to worry about my appearance, about my loneliness or my future - I had no time. I was constantly busy and every moment of rest was precious, so precious. Those wonderful moments when I was lying on the ground in that sleeping hall, my head in his lap, and he allowed me to relax, I was... happy. Yes. Happy.

Hmmm? Sorry, I was lost in thought. Maybe I... should tell you about what happened next another day. I do not want to remember that now. I just want to remember those precious moments when I felt... save. Protected. Loved.

Sentimental fool, am I not? I dare say. Well... I must go. When I have time we see each other again.

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 _Surprise! I finished the chapter before Christmas!_

 _Now I have to tell you why I wrote this chapter. I did a bit of research about Ninjutsu and suddenly everything seemed to fit Erik - the use of hidden trapdoors, hidden weapons, secret weapons, hidden defense systems, the agility and speed of noiseless movement, and one of their special weapons that is normally called a"lasso" but it is not like the usual lasso - the Nagenawa. It matches the description in Leroux's book far better than any onther weapon I ever read about. You see, a normal noose from a lasso falls down over the victim's head - coming from above holding your hand up like you were holding a gun would not help, a skilled man would hit the target nevertheless. But the Nagenawa would come from the side so holding the hand up would make it very difficult to hit with the first try. Ninja were ghost-like and they had one motto "no name, no honor, no school" (sometimes the word "school" would be replaced by "country") - doesn't Erik tell Christine that he did not have a name or a country despite the fact that he was able to inherit something from his mother and therefore must have known his name and that he was French. Rings a bell? The ability of climbing up walls at a high speed - as Erik does when Raoul shoots at him - was something Ninja were famous for. Even the trick with the reed as described by Leroux has been used by certain Ninja. The more I read about Ninja, the more I could picture Erik being one of them._

 _I hope you liked this chapter (I know my theory how Erik learned his skills is a bit unusual)? I'd love to get reviews!_

 ** _A merry Christmas and a happy New Year!_**


	7. Embracing Darkness

_Warning: This chapter contains some more violence, even death. But I did not raise the rating, because if a child is able to live through something like that - and they do, thousands of them, each and every day - I still think elder minors can cope with this. Nothing too explicit, nothing you can't see in the news in TV, but I wanted to warn you just in case. I hope you read it nevertheless for I put many research into this chapter._

 **HEART TO HEART CONVERSATION**

 **Embracing Darkness**

Good evening, my dear friend. Honestly, I am really trying to adjust. I know you had no hard day this week, so you surely can afford to listen to my demented rambling tonight. Not demented? Why, thank you. You flatter me. Sometimes I think I am going crazy. You were right, being alone all day is not really good for my mental health, you are absolutely right, I need someone to talk to, someone who objects and tells me I am behaving weird - otherwise I lose any anchor to sanity.

That is exactly why I am here and talk to you. Yes, I know. I am wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing again, but I can't help. I have to pity myself for I won't get any sympathy from anyone else, do I? Naturally I do not need to loathe myself - I get far too much loathing from anyone, but that... well, I know, I am being cynical. Sometimes I am just in such a dark mood. I was thinking... Thinking of Chang Lee and sometimes I miss him so much. I am in desperate need of his wisdom and guidance, but he is dead and I can't ask him.

Of course I could ask you. Such a silly comment. But you are not Chang Lee, are you? No, I cannot respect you like him. Never. I know you have my best interests at heart, but... It is hard to describe... You are a good friend, and if you die I will miss you terribly, but... He was my Sensei. You'll never understand the bond between teacher and pupil in that culture. It is something special.

I am here to tell you, don't worry. Apple? See, I did not forget apples, and I have apple tart as well, but no wine. If I am in such a dark mood like tonight, I better not drink or I'll never stop. You know that. Apple tart and water, this will have to do. Yes, I know, it looks horrible, but it tastes delicious. What do you think it will look like after we ate it?

Yes, that winter in Lahore... We would have loved to have such delicacy. We lived on nothing but roti, that's flat bread, almost without taste, but it fills the stomach. My days were always the same. I would get up, prepare my props for my show, my show would begin early afternoon and end in the evening. I did not show my face and my magic show was purely entertainment, as was my music. I liked to make people laugh and I loved to see how happy my music could make them. I know it sounds strange considering all I had been through at this time, but I had not given up hope to fit into some sort of society. I still loved to make people happy instead of sad or scare them. Making someone smile or laugh always gives me this warm feeling, this quiet, warm feeling, I really like that. Sometimes I wonder where I would be now if I was just bad looking and not like a monster from a horror novel. But these thoughts don't help, they just leave me bitter and even more depressed than I am now.

After the show we would go to the outskirts and exercise. No matter how tired I was after these shows in the bazar, I had to exercise. I had to bow to him and to follow his every command, "I can't" or "I'm tired" or "It hurts" were no options - saying "no" was no option. I had to obey and trust him that he would care for my well-being enough to stop me before I hurt myself. And he did. He told me if he ever allowed me to hurt myself, he would fail me - and that would be the worst a teacher could do to his pupil. I did trust him. I remember the night when I was very angry with myself for I did not master the technique he tried to teach me. I was exhausted, hungry and thirsty, I could barely stand upright, but my anger at my failure kept me going. I tried again and again, until Chang stopped me.

"Enough," he said, holding my arm.

"No it is not enough!" I yelled at him, "I know I can do it!" My frustration with my inability to do what I knew I should be able to do was all I cared about that moment. I was so angry, I shook off his hand and tried again, but this time I could not go through the exercise. My stomach heaved and I was down on hands and knees in the dust, retching. I had not eaten anything that day so all I brought up was a bit of water.

"O my stupid boy," Chang sighed and fetched the zahato, that is a leather bag in which you can carry water. He handed it to me and told me to drink. "When I say stop, you should stop, understood?" He wasn't angry, only worried.

"I know I can do it!" I gasped, feeling much better after a few gulps of water. I staggered to my feet and waited for him to put down the zahato. Water was far too valuable to spill it. Then I attacked him with the technique I should have mastered by now. I failed miserably, I was sluggish and imprecise. But he took care to let me win, of course I knew that he wanted me to win or he would have blocked my approach before I was close enough to do anything.

He was lying in the dust, me on top of him, my ninjato - that is a sword, a bit like a katana, but shorter - pressed to his neck, the chain of my kusarigama wrapped around his legs. What? I never told you what a kusarigama is? Well... it is a chain weapon, looks like a sickle attached to a chain and on the other end of the chain is a weight, be it iron or stone. It is not so easy to hide like my lasso, but I liked it nevertheless. He was unharmed, of course, and he was grinning proudly despite my miserable failure.

"You mastered a very difficult lecture," he said as he got up again. I retrieved my weapons and stared at him in confusion. "Yes, you did. You understood the importance of intensive training."

On our way back to where we lived he held my arm to steady me. I was close to fainting that night. We stopped at a small kiosk - well, what they call a kiosk in the slums of Lahore - and he bought two bowls of some indefinable puree made of rice and some sort of meat. It might have been lamb, but I guess it was a very old he-goat from the taste of it. "Meat? Did we make so much money today?" I asked surprised.

He winked at me, giving me a sly look. "Do you think you are the only one who learns new skills?" he asked, laughing, as we sat on the ground a bit away from the kiosk, eating our meal. "I observed you picking pockets - and once I understood how you do it, I practiced myself." I stared at him in surprise, then we both laughed out. I had never thought him to become a thief but obviously he took his "no name, no honor, no school" very seriously. If it is necessary to steal, do it. Questionably ethics? Awww, come on, that is the ethics of a survivor. Ethics is like honor - an instrument of the powerful to make it harder for the others to raise in status.

When we had returned the bowls to the owner and went to the caravansary, I was really glad that I could rest soon, he suddenly spoke in a soft voice: "We need to get you out of the gutter. You are such a gifted boy, you are worthy to serve a king. We will leave Lahore, here too many people know you as the humble street entertainer - they won't believe you if you are suddenly a real magician."

"You sound like Ivan," I grumbled, "I do not like to be a scary magician."

He sighed. "My stupid boy, you still think that teacher of yours was a sadistic person who just wanted to hurt you? What you told me of his teachings tells me that he cared for you and wanted to give you the knowledge that helps you to make your life. He was right about your style of magic. Your shows are excellent, but you appear on the scene as a shy and humble boy, always ducking down, always being overly polite, making a fool of yourself to make people laugh. That might be the right behaviour for a beggar, but not a magician. People here are very superstitious, you really ought to take advantage of that. As a real magician, what would you do? Do you think you would be happy to earn a few coins? Or would you try for something better?"

"I am no real magician," I replied sadly, "If I was, I would change my face."

"Your face could be to your advantage," he reminded me.

"O yes, Ivan kept saying that," I laughed bitterly, "But I do not want my horrible appearance to determine my fate."

He sighed and gave me that what-a-stupid-boy-look. "O Erik, there are things in the world no one can change. My fate was determined by where and to whom I was born. Everyone's fate is determined by certain things he can never change. If someone is born blind, he will never be able to see, no matter what he does. He can only embrace the darkness because no matter how desperately he wants to be a painter, he will never be. You run with your head against the mountains, but I do not think the mountains would even notice - you'll only succeed in getting a terrible headache or maybe even breaking your skull."

I hated what I heard, I knew he was right, but I really hated it. "I'll try. But I still don't like it," I replied, looking down on him. He was such a small man.

"Good boy," he clapped my shoulder and smiled at me.

So our scheming began. First we made a list what we would need to leave Lahore. Travelling on foot was no option, I already had acquired too many things, mainly props, we would be very slow if we carried everything on our backs. And what would everyone think of us if we carried heavy loads on our backs? Would they believe I was a real magician? Certainly not. We needed new clothing, I wanted a black caftan, a black scarf - yes, even men wore a certain headscarf - a black mask and black Turkish trousers.

No, this is not funny! Men wore these things in India and I wanted them. And I wanted a black coat made of goat wool, the same canvas as the black tents. To get that we needed money and now we were burglars of a whole new level. Chang was positive that I had learned enough to work with me. So together we sneaked into the houses of the rich English merchants and took everything we thought valuable - that was mostly pocket watches, rings, jewelry and money. I have to admit that first I was really nervous, like an actor with stage fright, and overly cautious, but after a few nights Chang had to hold me back because I wanted to try my skills, wanted to take a higher risk, but he would have none of it. "Never take a risk if you can avoid it," he instructed me. A wise counsel, but I was a fifteen year old boy and not very eager to learn wisdom.

So I went to an English merchant's stable one night, I did not want to buy horses, I wanted to steal them. Stealing something small is easy, stealing horses is a challenge, horses are really big, noisy and they do not obey if they do not know you. But my mind was set, I wanted to steal them. I chose a mare and two geldlings, all of them not real horses, rather ponies. Ponies are easier to keep than the large English warmblooded horse.

That moment a guard - alarmed by the noise the horses made - came into the stable. I tried if my new black clothes helped vanishing into the shadows, waiting for him to overlook me and pass my hidingplace. To make absolutely sure he would pass me I used what little ventriloquism I knew then to make a whisper a few meters away. He did as I had expected him to do, trying to see who was hiding in a certain box. I just had to get up and throw my lasso. I caught his neck, the weight hit the back of his head hard and I pulled with all my strength, causing him to stumble backwards - towards me. I kicked one of his legs and he fell to the ground, turning over in his fall, so he came to lie on his stomach. I pressed both knees onto his back, pulling on the rope with all my strength. I had not snapped his neck and he was not unconscious, I would have to choke him into unconsciousness. He was much heavier than I was, so I feared he might be able to get up, but his struggles were not very coordinated, he was more or less just trashing around.

It is frightening how long it takes to strangle someone. Minutes, it takes several minutes and he was fighting with all he had. I was suddenly scared myself, no longer sure if I could do this. But here I was - there was no going back now. If I let go, he would get up and kill me. I had to strangle him. His movements became more frantic, I was breathing heavily, my muscles aching and my heart beating so hard, I was sure all of Lahore must have heard it.

Dying of strangulation is a horrible death. I saw his head turn blue, the skin on his lips broke, the sweat in his black hair and the stench of it. Yes, dying from strangulation is a horribly painful and dirty death, it strips the victim of every dignity. He pissed himself. They all do, I do not know why, but all strangulation victims piss themselves at a certain point of the fight. But he still kept trashing so I could not let him go, I did not dare. Yes, I panicked myself, I was terrified. I felt like a small child fighting a bloodthirsty beast.

When that man finally lay still I did not dare loosen my grasp on the rope for fear he might draw another breath. It took some time until I cautiously let go - holding my breath, waiting for his chest to rise. He did not. I looked down on my hands, covered in my own blood where the rope had cut my palms and fingers. I sat back and heaved a sigh of relief as I understood that he was dead and would not come back. I had been told by someone that a murderer always remembers the face of his victim so I thought I should avoid seeing his face - but my curiosity won and I moved to see it. His face was distorted, blackened, the eyes bulging and bloodshot, it was disgusting. I got up and looked around and saw my teacher standing there, watching me.

I flinched as if I had been struck by lightning. I had tried my best to make sure he would not follow me, I wanted to do this on my own, and now I had failed miserably.

"Why did you kill him?" he asked softly.

"I had to," was my answer, my voice shaking, "He did not stop fighting."

"Stupid boy!" he hissed, "He was already unconscious! You mistook death throes for fighting!" He slapped me in the face hard. My head jerked back, I tasted blood where my lip had hit my teeth, but I lifted my head again and faced him, bracing myself for more pain. "You stupid boy! I had wished for your first time to be something worth remembering - not such a sloppy job that will leave you bright red with shame whenever you think of it." I lowered my head and bit my tongue so I would not say anything that would anger him further.

He instructed me to take the three horses I had chosen, saddle and brindle them, then we mounted and left. I knew I would get a lecture as soon as we were safe. We did not head to the caravansary but to our little training place in the outskirts. There he had left our bags - plus long sticks and a small black tent. He had already gotten a tent for us! How had he done that?

In utter silence we packed everything we had and tied it to the back of the smallest gelding, a brown one, then he decided he would take the other gelding, which was also bay, but a lighter shade of brown, and I would get the mare for she was the largest horse. She was a dun horse. He lead the way, I followed, leading the packhorse, waiting for a guilty conscience to kick in. After all, I had murdered a man who was just doing his duty protecting his master's horses, I should have felt guilty, shouldn't I? But I did not. Nothing. I was ashamed because I had failed in my plan. I knew I should have killed the guard in a more elegant way - snap his neck, painless, fast, safe. Strangling was unnecessary cruelty, I knew that, and an unnecessary risk. But I did not feel guilty and no, the face or the eyes of the dead man were already forgotten.

Does this make me a bad man? Some might think so. But I could not bring myself to feel guilty, to feel any remorse at all. Only the fear of what might happen to me should anyone ever catch me.

We headed north, allowing us and our horses only the absolute necessary minimum of rest, we had no food but the horses found grass and leaves they could eat. India is not a desert north of Lahore, there are rivers and there is enough green. Chang and I could not eat grass and we were hungry. He did not complain and so I did not dare, after all, it was my fault that we had left the city in such a rush.

One night we were lying in our tent, on our bedroll. We had only one bedroll and one blanket, we shared it because the only warmth we would get was each other's body heat. My stomach was growling and I could not sleep.

"Erik?" he asked softly.

"Yes?"

"You awake?" I just nodded. He must have sensed my movement. "What you did was absolutely foolish, you know that?"

"Yes, I know."

"You know what you should have done?" he asked.

"Yes. I should have killed him quick and painless. Strangling is unnecessary cruelty and an unnecessary risk," I answered like a schoolboy repeating a lecture.

"No! You are really hard of understanding, stupid boy!" He slapped the back of my head in annoyance. "You should not have taken that risk at all! I decide when you are ready for a fight to the death and not you. You are in no way ready, don't you see that? You are not ready to kill and you are not ready to risk your life. You panicked and survived just because you were lucky. But luck is nothing you can rely on. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, ashamed of my failure - and still not feeling guilty for the murder.

"Try to sleep, tomorrow we risk going to a village and buy food," he decided.

As always, he was right. I should not have done that, I should have at least asked his opinion. He even told me that we already had enough to buy horses, so there was no need to take that risk - or at least I should have found a less guarded stable. We worked out a new performance. Now I was to be the mysterious figure in the background, the magician, and he was my servant.

"No, sir, I can't do that!" I objected, "If you are my servant, you might really have to serve me - we can't do that!"

"Erik, it is better to be the servant than the master. You take the risk in this. Remember, being the overlooked servant is much better than the front line soldier. If you have a choice, better be the grey eminence than the king. Better be the secretary than the merchant. Understood?" I nodded. I have to admit that in my vanity I did not want to be the servant if I could have been the king, but now I know he was right. I just wish I had listened to him sooner in my life.

God, I am glad I did not bring wine or cognac for right now I feel that... that... need do get drunk. Yes, I know, but I can't help it. Maybe that's why I came to you, to prevent myself from doing something utterly stupid. I know it is a terrible weakness of mine, but sometimes I just want to knock myself out, I do not want to think or feel for a while, then I tend to take whatever I get - drugs, alcohol, medicine, I do not care, I think I might take poison if I can get nothing else.

What? Drugs and alcohol are poison? Yes, right, I know this - I know. If I did not know I would be lying in my flat by now, too drunk to get up from the floor. Eat your apple tart and shut up. If I want to hear your opinion, I ask. What? I came to you and not you to me? Yes, but I want you to listen, not to tell me what I already know. Shut up.

Strange, I remember that we had goat milk cheese and goat milk. I still remember the taste of the delicious goat milk cheese but I do not remember what that first murder victim of mine looked like.

We headed north, towards the border to Afghanistan. I do not know why he chose that road, maybe because we would not have to cross the mountains, well, at least not the most difficult ones. Mountain climbing was never one of my skills, as was sailing. I hated ships for I always got seasick.

And then we started with the new show I had come up. He - acting as my servant - would introduce me to the audience and my part was to be the most scary magician. So, much smoke, much fire, fireworks, every trick had to be frightening and scary. The first three times it did not went well. It was not the tricks, the music or the show, no, it was me. I was too nervous. I was a fifteen year old boy and I had a terrible low self-confidence.

Chang did analyse why I was doing bad. And he figured out my nervousness showed, the audience noticed and suddenly did not believe in my magic. They could feel if I was not sure the trick would work. They could smell my fear. "We need to work on that before you do the next show!" he decided.

And we did. He forced me to approach people, no matter I did not understand their language and they did not understand any of mine. He understood better than I did that it was social interaction that really frightened me, so he forced me to endure it, again and again, with my mask and even without. "What is the worst you can imagine?" he asked, and then he would make me do exactly that, just to show me that it was not half as bad as my fear of it. If I did not want to do it, he threatened to force me to go naked or even to tie me up and leave me naked for the people to find me. I doubt he would really have done it, but I understood the meaning - there is always something worse.

One evening we sat in our small tent, eating some sort of stale bread and goat milk. He asked: "Erik, what was that feeling?" When I did not understand, he asked again: "Today before you entered the village, what did you think, what did you feel?" I shrugged. I did not want to tell him for I was ashamed. "Erik, you did very well. You were absolutely calm, determined, and the way you looked down on everyone gave me the creeps. That was the perfect attitude, keep that."

"That was the perfect attitude? But sir, I was scared to death, I was panicking, I had trouble not to vomit then and there," I confessed.

"Really? I did not see that," he answered, "And that smile? That arrogant smile?" Shrugging I explained that smiling suppressed the vomiting reflex. He laughed. "That's good! From the look in your face I would have thought you were going to wipe out the entire village - and you were just trying not to vomit!"

Blushing I explained: "I did not look down on anyone - I checked if I had pissed myself in my panic." I had not known he could roar out in laughter like that. He laughed until I was worried he might suffocate from his laughing fit. But it was the truth, simple as that. I appeared to be calm, when in reality I was close to... I do not know. It felt as if I would go mad with fear.

This little talk had a deep impact on my self-confidence. Even if I was panicked, no one would notice. I could hide my feelings very well, obviously I had been taught well in the past. And my teacher gave me an advise that helped me a lot - observe people. Instead of being afraid of them, analyse their movements, try to figure out if they were fighters or if they would just run away. Try to figure out which weapon they carried, if they knew how to use it properly and how to defeat them. I have to admit that it helped me a lot to find out that if I did not just fear everyone as if he or she was a bloodthirsty predator but just observed and planned how I could defeat them, I came to the conclusion that I would be able to kill 95% of the people I met without much danger. And the last 5%... well, I don't know, I think I might best them but that would involve some risk. Of course I did not grow so arrogant as to assume my guess would be correct in every single case - Chang Lee posed as dull and clumsy servant and he would easily defeat me any time, others might pretend too. But most people feel too secure in their life to even think of putting up a pretense like that.

Travelling was dangerous. It was not just the road - it didn't deserve that name at all - the weather, coldness, rain, burning sun, the lack of water, the rocks, the cliffs, the small paths, the other travellers, animals, the need to find enough food for the horses - did you know how much food a horse needs and how hard good food is to be found? We had enough money, thanks to our little burglary project, but it still was difficult and demanding. Of course I was the one to do most of the work, but that was fine with me, I was used to working hard.

One day, I have no idea where we were, it was just somewhere between those brown rocks with sparse vegetation on a hillside, we were approached by a group of five men. Usually people just wanted to pass us and we usually avoided a fight by letting them pass, even bowing humbly to them. But they did not want to pass, they wanted to rob us. I got down from my mare and handed the reins to Chang how just nodded to me encouragingly.

I gave a small bow and asked what I could do for them. The largest of the men said something, but it was no language I understood. I tried what little Arabic, Farsi and Russian I knew - I had not used that languages before, just learned a little bit - but he did not understand me. He pointed to our horses and it was quite easy to understand he wanted them.

"Mine," I said, "Let us pass." He drew out a dagger. I watched him carefully. He was not taller than me, but much broader. I guess he was stronger than me, much stronger, but his strength would be his disadvantage for clenched muscles slow you down. He did not know how to relax to gather speed and tense up just for the right split-second. I raised my hands behind my neck. This is usually a gesture of defeat - but not with me, I was reaching for my sword. When he gave some command to his men I attacked, just one high jump and a swift movement with the sword and his head came off. I landed on my feet, surprised by how easily I had killed him. When I tried an attack like that on my teacher he always avoided me and countered my stroke. When I practiced cutting something with my sword - usually it was a broomstick wrapped in rags - it was much harder to cut than that man's neck. I do not know how long I stood there, staring at the body.

I am not really sure what happened then, for when I looked up I only saw the other four men run like the devil himself was chasing them. I felt Chang's arm around my shoulders, his other hand holding mine. "It is okay, Erik, it is over," he said gently. Only then I noticed I was shaking from head to foot and wondered where my sword was. "It was impressive," he told me, "You were perfectly calm and concentrated on nothing but the challenge. When he fell you shook off the blood of your blade and let it glide back into its sheath in perfect zanshin."

Zanshin is a moment of perfect concentration just on the one moment. Chang described it as the moment after a Samurai had made his sword stroke and didn't know yet if his opponent was dead or not, that one moment of perfect concentration, ready to see him die or block the counter. I had not concentrated on anything, I had stopped thinking at all, I could not even remember putting the sword away.

"His head came off..." I whispered like a small child, I do not know why but this time it shocked me how easily a man could be killed.

"You did very well," he answered, "Hush, it is okay, it is over. Erik, you won, and this is a victory worth remembering." I pressed my masked face at his shoulder and wept.

Yes, I know it sounds funny that I was devastated when I had killed in self-defense and gave it not a second thought when I had done it out of... whatever. I do not even know. But that was what my live was like at the age of 15. One day I was a man and one day I was a small child and then sometimes everything at once and nothing at all.

And this was not the last time someone tried to rob us, but the next time it was night. We were sleeping in our tent when a soft noise woke me and Chang. We crawled to the opening in the canvas to see what was happening. We saw three men, two were trying to untie our horses and one was standing there, keeping an eye on the tent. Chang and I crept out of the tent on the backside. I used the darkness, my black clothing and black mask to keep myself almost invisible. He still watched the tent so it was easy to move in a circle around him and sneak up on him from behind. When I was close enough, I used my lasso. This time I did it properly and I heard the crack when his neck snapped. I let him fall at my feet and stood there, taking his position, assuming it was too dark for his comrades to see us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Chang sneaking up on the other two. He used his favorite weapon, the bo-shuriken, to incapacitate them. Bo-shuriken look like small arrows and are used like throwing knifes. He had his poisoned with some quite powerful poison, it killed quickly. Utterly silent, quick and clean. That is how he liked it and I have to admit that was how I liked a job to be done - and it was nothing else to me at that time. A job to be done.

I am sorry if I give you the impression that the people in India are more violent than elsewhere - they are not. Robbers are everywhere, only at that time we had three horses and would be considered rich men among those really poor people. Maybe they had reasons for trying to rob us, maybe if we had had any chance to talk I would even be moved with pity - I do not know. As long as I was just another beggar, no robber would ever have wasted his time with me - but now I looked like a rich man, having three horses and a servant. Plus, we were obviously no natives. We were outsiders, we spoke English so they might have guessed we were from the same country as their oppressors. Of course we were very high on their list of possible victims. But to be true - only two attempted robberies on a route of about 600 kilometers is not that much, especially if you consider that there was no police, no magistrate, no courts, no jails. It was more or less archaic society with tribal chiefs as their leaders. Actually the so called uncivilized people were much more honest that the so-called civilized ones. No, I felt rather save there.

To cut a long story short, I kept the skull of one of them to use it for a trick. This spooked even Chang, who told me that he had been an assassin in his youth, but never seen anyone with that much disrespect for the dead ones. Maybe it was Ivan's bad influence or whatever, but I did not think much about this. I needed a skull and here was a dead body - I wouldn't get a better skull. I wanted to do the "defeat death" trick again, or at least a variation of that trick. That beginning spring my attitude was "You want scary - I'll show you scary!" Maybe not for the best, but that is what it was. No, I will not tell you how I prepared that skull - after all I do not want you to throw up that apple tart I had so much trouble making. Do you know how much time it takes just to cut the apples?

We reached a city at the border to Afghanistan in spring and then I felt self-confident enough to act the part of the real magician. Chang, acting as the perfect cliche servant, did the announcement. I had to hold onto the reins of my mare to prevent myself from applauding. My fictional biography now was that I was a magician from the icy North - to the people in India North Europe is as exotic as the Orient is for Europeans - who was such a fierce fighter, one day no enemy dared to challenge me so I challenged the Angel of Death himself, fighting him to a stalemate - we agreed that winning would be a bit too much - which had left me disfigured but alive, and now was travelling to gain knowledge and wisdom, for this was the only thing I could not simply conjure up.

In reality it was about money and earning my livelihood, plain and simple, but people want to be lied to, they are not interested in the truth. Yes, it is that simple, they like fairy tales.

After that we just had to wait for someone to challenge me. Of course they did, they always do. Usually it is the younger men, but in this case it was a middle-aged man and he was really fat. He said I was no magician at all, only a trickster. That was my clue. I dismounted my mare and took the small cotton balls from my sleeves. Very small black balls made of black cotton, drenched in a very high distilled alcohol.

Yes, it is a country where alcohol is strictly prohibited, but this does not mean you can't buy the stuff in every smaller or larger village. I might have used another stuff called "benzine" that is a by-product when you work with mineral oil. But this is not a lecture in chemistry, benzine was not easy to get, alcohol was, so I used alcohol. The fire from alcohol is not so hot I could not juggle with the three little burning cotton balls with bare hands - I would not be able to hold them for long, but juggle and play with them was easy. It looked like I was juggling with pure fire for they did not see the tiny cotton balls.

This was nothing to surprise him. What surprised him more was that I handed him a stick and asked him to hit my head with it. He did - and the skull I had worn like a hat fell off and rolled over the ground. I pulled the cloak down over my shoulders so it looked like I was growing a new head, as ugly as the mummified skull. I grinned and shook my hair. That time I wore my hair tied back with a ribbon and I even had some sort of beard.

Okay, okay, I get it. I can't really call it a beard, it was just a bit of hair here and there and it was grey and not brown despite my young age. What happened then was something really funny. People were scared of me, but I seemed to fascinate them. Once I had verified my fictional biography as an ancient magician, I did not even need to do anything else. I was invited by one of the honorable men, treated with great respect - and yes, fear - and so I got a very good meal, refreshing juice - you have no idea how I enjoyed that juice after the long journey in the dusty and dry mountains. Of course I asked them to care for my horses and my faithful old servant, feeling absolutely ridiculous calling Chang a servant. But this earned us a healthy meal and a nice room to sleep in without having to pay for it.

Once I had established a certain reputation as real magician - which was far too easy with these superstitious people - I could present easier tricks to entertain them to act my part as the distinguished guest. The funny thing was, they all thought I was very old. In that country people got married very young, at the age of 13 to 15, were grandfathers at about 30 and not many of them lived more than 40 years. If you meet a very old man with a white beard and no teeth who looks like he's 70 or 80 - he might be just half that age. The hard life makes people age much before their natural age.

We did not stay long for being a magician I was required to know everything and have an answer to every question, which is impossible. I was quite good in improvising from my knowledge and what they told me to come up with an answer. It was a bit like fortune-telling. Make something up and if they do not understand it, they think it is a wise saying and they would understand in time.

You are right, we were more or less very very impertinent parasites, enjoying their hospitality, living like the bee in the clover - or, as the German proverb says "wie die Maden im Speck - like maggots in bacon" - and taking without giving. I rather liked that. It was not that easy everywhere. Sometimes it worked, sometimes people made me out to be an impostor, in which case we needed to be on our horses in full gallop in a matter of moments. Yes, that too did happen, and at first it was really frightening, but in the end it became a wonderful thrill, like eating something really spicy and sweet at the same time, like pepper in honey or chili in chocolate. I embraced it and even the flight could be fun, to outrun them, to fool them, I started to love our life as rogues.

Even Chang seemed to re-live his youth, he acted like he was as young as I was, we behaved like two teenagers having fun creating nothing but mischief. Even if we were on the run again, it was fun. We knew how to escape and people on foot never caught up with our horses. A yes, these were really funny weeks we spend in India and, yes, Afghanistan.

I do not really know why Chang wanted us to head north, but I did not care. As long as I was not hungry, thirsty or cold I did not care much about anything else.

Afghanistan was a strange land. There were so many tribes and their tribal chiefs hated each other. This was what the local people knew. And then there was what one might learn from caravans - the greater politics. England had tried to annex that land to their colony India. But Russia wanted to make it a colony as well, so many seemingly local conflicts between tribes were just about which European Nation had bribed the tribal chief to use him as their pawn. Yes, I never let anyone know I was European, it would have cost my head if I had and as ugly as my head is, I prefer it to be on my shoulders and stay there.

My show one night was really great. I made a horse disappear before the very eyes of my audience. I liked that trick for it was so easy. I would cover my mare with the canvas of our tent. But my mare wore something that looked like a cage made of small wire that fitted her neck and back perfectly - sometimes I wonder why no one ever noticed, but then, it was a trick that only worked in the night with two torches as the only light - and the torches were between me and the audience. That particular trick works only at night and only if you have an exceptional obliging horse. I went around the mare, doing some sort of magical dance, singing some nonsense in a chant-like voice, in truth tying the wire to small sticks in the ground. In the darkness no one ever saw. Then my mare could just walk out from the horse-shaped-tent. If she she went directly away from the audience, the black tent would cover her and Chang could lead her away, lead her in a large circle and bring her back. The tent would stand until I pulled down the canvas, at the same time pull the rope that held the wire together. It fell down and the canvas covered the wire, people were astonished how I could make a horse disappear without any trapdoors or any other visible props. This works with horses, with elephants and I guess it might even work with a train - I always wanted to do it with a train, but never had the chance to.

Finally Chang brought my mare back, telling them he had found her a mile away. No one ever doubted him then and everyone was afraid I might make one of his animals disappear.

After that I had a nice little fire show, making the dust burn when I spilled water. It was easy and turned out to frighten them. The audience never knows if a trick is easy or hard to prepare and to perform. As long as they do not understand that particular trick, it seems to be real magic to them. Plus I knew what the light from the flames at my feet did to my deformed features and how it made my eyes glow. You see, I have light brown eyes. In sunlight they appear to be a little bit green, but in the light from fire they appear some odd light brown, almost like amber. O really? You think my eyes are rather large for a face such as mine? Maybe. But to these superstitious men I really seemed to be a real magician, a magician they would not want to cross, of course I always refused payment - no real magician needs the money from poor men - but I graciously accepted their presents. And they all wanted to appease me so I got plenty of them.

I cannot even recall where exactly but we met that merchant from Samarkand. He was with his workers and his caravan in Afghanistan to buy lapis lazuli, that blue stone. They dig for that stone in the mountains of Afghanistan. Have you ever seen raw lapis lazuli? It looks like nothing, grey, uninteresting. But when you put it in water it reveals its really beautiful colour and when it is cut and set right it is very nice. Well, that merchant was there to buy lapis lazuli and bring it back to Samarkand. He liked my performance very much, so much indeed, he believed me to be a real magician and asked me to accompany his caravan, to protect them. I told him I needed to think about that offer to ask Chang for advise. It was a risk after all, one mistake and I would be exposed as the treacherous impostor I really was.

My teacher thought it was a good practice for a long-term job and if something went wrong we could always run. So I agreed to his generous offer. It was really generous, for I would get food and water and even payment. Of course I first told him I was not interested in money, but I would accept jewelry and gems for gemstones were a source of great magical power and if he owned such a precious stone - which might be dangerous to him, because he did not know how to channel that power - I would accept it as a gift if he gave it freely. Haha. Yes, I was a sick little bastard. Rrrright.

It turned out that the merchant and his workers - as well as the men he had hired as some sort of guards - all feared me. With my face and my tricks they thought me to be a real magician, although I know especially the merchant doubted me. He acted as if he believed me to be a real magician, treating me with great respect and keeping much distance, but sometimes I saw how closely he watched me and I was sure he fully suspected me to make a mistake and reveal one of my many tricks. He spoke many languages, among them Russian, but not English. Never mind, we could talk in Russian, which Chang did not understand, so I had much translation work to do. The workmen all spoke Russian, an odd dialect, but we could understand each other. But mostly they spoke their own language, which I did not understand.

After some time Chang told me to be careful. He was not sure, because he did not understand them, but he suspected one of them to be a spy.

"A spy? Who would spy on a travelling merchant?" I asked.

"I do not know, but I assume there are people who will try to rob him on his way to Samarkand. They will wait until he got his goods and then rob him," he answered, "And as a magician you are to prevent this."

"Okay, lets take the horses and run," I answered, "I am not up to that job. I will fail miserably." I was about to get up and pack our belongings for I was absolutely frightened and sure I would fail.

He held me back. "Wait, Erik, if you run now, you will always run. Do not give in to your fear. You are much better than you give yourself credit for. Think and try to find a solution. Who said you aren't a real magician? What you do is magic, as real as it can be. Only because you know how it works it is no less magical. Every real magician knows how his magic works, doesn't he? And everyone else does not know how it works, right? Now, as a magician, what would you do to expose him?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I do not think I can do this," I answered, still spooked by the mere thought of having that much responsibility.

His eyes softened and he smiled at me as he answered: "My dear Erik, this is what I trained you to be. You are a Shinobi. Do you remember what I told you Shinobi are?"

"Spies, assassins and whatever they need to be to achieve their goals," I answered, repeating his lecture like a schoolboy.

"Try to see this as a lecture. You are a counter-spy now, trying to find the spy and prevent the robbery. If you fail, it is of no consequence, we will just move on. And I am always here to back you up, you know that, do you? Do you trust me?"

Now I learned a new way of his teaching. I am so glad he was not the one to teach me swimming, he would have thrown me into the sea and watched if I would be able to make my way back to the shore. I guess his idea was that the best learned lectures are the learning-by-doing lectures. But I have to admit that I was nervous and felt overchallenged, so his first issue was to calm me down. "How do you eat an elephant?" he asked and I shrugged helplessly. I would never be able to eat something as big as an elephant. He chuckled as he answered: "In little slices." I grinned at that, for he was right. I had to concentrate on the next steps I had to take and not on some goal that was far away. I had made my way through Europe and India - if I had only concentrated how far away my goal was, I would have despaired and given up long ago, but here I was, having traveled more kilometers than most people could even imagine. In my mind I heard Karl's voice: "Never say die."

I have to admit that I did not remember much of the landscape or the cities we came through - I was too busy staying close to the caravan and watching them. My problem was that eavesdropping is not very helpful if one does not understand the language. The whole time I had to stay in-character in my role as a real magician who didn't fear death and possessed such a great wisdom. This was really hard, I was a boy of 15 and very often I just wanted to be childish, to run around or to have some fun. Without Chang I would never have lasted those weeks in spring and would have had to endure the humiliating experience of being revealed to be nothing but a liar.

The buying of the lapis lazuli was not easy. We would venture into some remote villages - although they did not deserve that name - in the mountains. Everything was... dry. Dusty. A brownish grey. People were poor and their houses were not much better than our tent was. Skinny goats and starving children, dirty men with long, matted beards, that was what I remember mostly. No women. One might think people there reproduced asexually for it seemed to be a land without females. If you ever go there and see a very small tent that is moving around - that is a female. They really look like they are carrying their tents with them so they never really leave their homes. They claim this to be for their women's protection but I doubt these tiny tents protect from anything, on the contrary, they hinder the view and make it impossible to run or to fight. Yes, I know, I digress again. Sorry.

The merchant exchanged the stone for much needed goods in these mountain villages. Now I understood why he hadn't been robbed before - he didn't have that much money, he had dry store goods - which were very valuable in the remote villages but certainly not one-tenth as valuable in any city were you could buy them in the bazar and many salesmen offered them and had to compete for customers. In Samarkand he would sell the blue stones for a nice profit, then he would decide what goods he would buy and where he would sell them to make the most of it. Now that we had the stones I was sure we would be lead to an ambush.

I asked Chang for help, for I still did not know anything. Everyone of the men working in this caravan could be the spy to inform the robbers or lead us into an ambush - and in the desert-like mountains of the Hindu Kush with nearly no inhabitants or streets and certainly no police or any other authority than the local tribal chiefs, a robbery would be far too easy. "They will surely wait for us somewhere," Chang said, "And they won't be many men. If they were, they would already have attacked for we are being followed since the day before yesterday."

Now I knew just how much I had failed. I had not noticed anyone calling his comrades and I had not noticed being followed. I lowered my head in shame and tried not to let anyone but my teacher see my embarrassment. He gently nodded and let something fall to the ground to stay in-character as the clumsy servant. I knew I deserved a beating for my carelessness and inattentiveness, but that would have to wait until we were alone. "What am I to do now?" I asked, feeling utterly helpless.

He shrugged. "You are the magician. Use magic."

I was about to scream at him, maybe even slap him - posing as my servant he would not fight back. But I swallowed my anger and asked what a magic trick could do to scare hardened robbers away. Now he became really angry. "What do you have your ugly head for? Use your mentality! You are such a clever boy, but you refuse to think! It is again your extremely low self-esteem, isn't it? You think you can do nothing, you are so afraid of doing anything wrong that you refuse to do anything at all. Sit down and think, this is going to be the first real performance of your live, and better make it a good one."

As usually I went through the horror of every level of stage-fright any artist ever suffered. Panic, sickness, diarrhoea, even some sort of fever, cold sweat and the terrible urge to run away and hide in some dark hole. The things I could not hide were diarrhoea and sickness. I did not dare ride my mare for I knew I would not be able to dismount in time, so I just walked and if necessary and do what I had to do just a few steps beside the narrow beaten path they called road. It was horribly degrading, but I could not help myself.

Of course this did nothing to dispel their doubts - I clearly was weakened and could not pretend to be such a mighty magician now. A mighty magician does not get summer cholera. I did not explain anything, I didn't even bother to try, I was too sick by far. The dry climate and the heat in spring, the burning sun, it did nothing to help me. When we stopped for the night I was relieved to be allowed to collapse.

What? No, this is the truth. I rarely broke down if I did not allow myself to do so. I can - somehow - delay any sort of breakdown for a certain time, of course not forever, but sometimes I can even delay falling ill for weeks. Please do not ask me how I do this, I have no clue. Maybe it is just willpower, maybe everyone could do it with certain exercise, I do not know.

But I started to use my brain and came up with a solution. The solution was quite easy, I was counting on everyone thinking I was a harmless impostor by now. So if the robbers would reveal themselves - and I knew we were being followed so of course whoever would try to rob us would know that I was just a sick man. Use your weakness to your advantage, that was a teaching I should have remembered earlier. So even when I felt much better the next day I pretended to be very sick, sitting on my horse as if I could barely stay in the saddle, sipping from the leather bags with water every so often as if I was dehydrated - which I was not any more. My idea was to have much water with me. And my fire-powder.

Can you already guess what I had in mind? I think so. But I tell you nevertheless. They waited for us at a curve of the road where the rock face shielded them from our view. I made sure I was the first one in the caravan, as if I was leading them, with Chang directly behind me to help me if I failed. I can guess that the men who were the traitors were at the rear end of the caravan, to make sure we would not escape. So, the face of the rock to our right, the steep hillside to our left, the robbers before us and behind us - we were trapped. Or so it seemed. I have to admit that now I was no longer afraid or nervous, no, I admired the great landscape in sunset and thought - no magician has ever had such a great scenery.

The robbers stopped us and told us to dismount and climb down the hillside, if we left them our horses, the pack-horses and the goods nothing would happen to us. If we fought them, they would kill us. I looked at their weapons - rusty and ill-kept guns and daggers - and decided they were no great risk. The risk was just how many men they were - we were outnumbered one to five. I reached into my bag and took out a handful of my special fire powder, which I threw at the leader of the robbers. He looked like any of their tribal chiefs.

He laughed and mocked me that a bit of dust would never work against him, but I was young and slender, if I behaved he would make me his male whore. The brigands laughed and made obscene gestures to mock me - I have to admit that I shuddered at the thought what they might do to me if they ever caught me. I grabbed my leather bag with the water, cut off the upper end and threw it at him - he immediately burst into flames he could not extinguish. Now nobody laughed. They stared at the flames and as I took my second leather bag, drank from it and then poured even more water on the man who was by now rolling in the dust to extinguish the flames, they stood as if they were petrified with fear.

It was my turn to laugh now, to take off the cloth that hid my face, to show them my horrible, ugly, twisted and broken excuse for a face, snarl at them, laugh and threaten them. I did not think I was scary then, no, I was far too scared myself. But the man had stopped fighting and the stench of burning flesh spooked the horses - theirs and ours - and so I just needed to run my horse and all other horses followed. I had to make sure we were not too fast for if a horse would fall it would have to be put down. We lost two pack-horses before I found the horses were calm enough to stop. We were on a slope but is was not bold, it might be a nice resting place. When I stopped the other horses did too. I looked around and saw nothing but scared men, the merchant, his workers and the brigands alike.

"Who wants to test my power next?" I asked in Russian for lack of better idea. I could only hope they understood. Then I ordered them to dismount and lie down, face to the ground, hands behind their backs. When they did not obey I used my lasso to bring down the one next to me - hoping this was one of the robbers and not an innocent worker. But he was dead anyway, so why bother? It was dark enough that the rope was not seen by these men who did not know what they had to look for. They just saw me making strange gestures and then one man fell from his horse and was dead.

I had killed two men and they could not explain how I had done this - now they dismounted and did as I had told them. Chang and I could sort out robbers and workers without any haste. One tried to use his sabre on me. I nearly laughed as I saw the blade, I used my blade to block his attack and my blade went right through his. He stared at his broken sabre and threw himself at my feet, begging for mercy. I looked at Chang a bit helpless. A fight was what he had prepared me for, but a man begging for mercy? What was I to do?

The merchant was in no condition to decide anything as were his workers and with all these men I had beaten single-handedly I could not very well ask my clumsy servant what to do. So I decided to use their customs and their law and told the workers to cut off the right hand of every robber, then send them away. But I would keep their horses to compensate for the lost two pack-horses and the goods we had lost with them.

We did not rest that night. No one was calm enough to rest, we all were eager to leave the mountains and reach more civilised areas. Only now I learned that some of the tribal chiefs counted trespassing their borders as a crime punishable by death and one could only save oneself if one offered a high enough blood money or weregild. So to them we were the criminals. It just depends which side you are on to say this are the good guys and this are the bad guys. It was purely coincidence that had put me in the place at the merchants side.

Can you imagine why the robbers were so frightened? Yes? Really? Thank you. Because I still wonder. I did not think my performance was good, I rather think it was bad, I was far too nervous and did not use my voice or any grand gestures, I just went through the absolutely necessary movements like an automaton. I would not have been scared and I am not proud of that performance. It was not a good one, but then, it was my first rather clumsy attempt to act the part of the magician in real life rather than in a circus ring.

Yes, yes, I heard you. Curious, it is the same question my teacher asked me. I had killed without hesitation. To be true, I had not even thought about it. It was a job to be done, like killing a chicken if you want chicken soup. Killing a human is in no way more difficult than killing an animal, no. And I did not have a bad conscience, no. You see, men have really curious ideas about good and bad and I do not share them.

Murder is bad. Everyone agrees to that. But they worship heroes who killed many people - if they were on their side. You want an example? Ivan Groznij, or Ivan the Terrible, did you know he was a great poet and even composer? He was talented, that much I can say. Was he bad? He ruled with an iron fist, killed many and started many wars. Yes, but was he that bad for his people? There are Russians who would tell he was a hero. Vlad Tsepes, he was a very clever politician and strategist, yes, the Turkish men hated him for he was their most terrible nightmare - but ask Romanians, they love him. He protected them. Did you know that Napoleon Bonaparte, who is considered a national hero by most Frenchmen, is hated by Austrians and Germans? It depends which side you are on. Even the Holy Bible is most confusing - Samson killed 1000 Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey. A great hero. But what would the Philistines say if you asked them? Every Muslim agrees that Mohammed is good, but do you really think the tribes he conquered would agree? When he had all men beheaded and women and children enslaved?

No, I do not compare myself with anyone of these men, that would be despicable haughtiness, I just tried to explain why I do not consider killing a bad thing and why I do not regret those killings. I did not feel anything different from a tiger which takes the life of a water buffalo. A worthy adversary and he has his chance to escape or even kill the tiger, but the tiger needs meat to survive and therefor has no choice. A tiger can't live on grass and vegetables, he would die from that diet, so a tiger does not feel guilty or pity towards his prey.

I know my reasoning is most uncommon, but you see the logic in it, don't you? By the way, we are here to have a nice little chat and not a philosophical seminar, do we?

More apple tart? We are both going to put on some weight, my friend, if we keep eating so much over our conversations. In my case that might be an improvement, in yours... O, come on, I was just teasing you. No, I think you would still be dashing, at least compared to me. But you'll need a new belt.

But I guess we had more than enough, that goes at least for me. I better go home now, I am a bit tired. No, I do not know why I told you this in all detail instead of just reporting it... well... maybe because I remember it as if it had been yesterday. I matured strongly that winter and spring, really. I was 15, but my mind outgrew my body, in my mind I was a child no longer. I was a man, and not just any normal man, I was a dark magician, a real dark magician who was ready to conquer the world that rejected him.

I must go now, but rest assured, I will come back to tell you more. I do look forward to tell you about Samarkand. God, I loved Samarkand. It was... No, I won't start now or we'll be sitting here together for another hour at least. Next time, I promise.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Unfortunately I never had a chance to see that area of the world myself - and due to the political instability the risk is too high for my tastes. So I had to rely on books, internet and personal interviews with people who had been there._

 _All magic tricks I describe do work. And the vanishing horse - that trick has been performed by many magicians with various pieces to "disappear", one of the most famous might be David Copperfield who made a railway car of the Orient Express disappear through the very same trick I describe. Some might point out that David Copperfield had the audience form a circle around the railway car, but who said it was real audience and not just his hired assistants? Of course you can always trust a magician ;-)_

 _My knowledge about crimes come from my studies of criminology, not personal experience (for which I am absolutely grateful)._

 _I know this is a rather dark chapter, but I hope you liked it nevertheless._

 _Please review._


	8. King of Stranglers, Prince of Conjurers

**HEART TO HEART CONVERSATION**

 **King of Stranglers, Prince of Conjurers**

Knock knock. May I come in? What do you mean it is common practice to knock and not say "knock"? Spoilsport.

Did you really tolerate the apple tart last time? That's good to hear - I did not. I had a really terrible night after that, but it is my own fault, I shouldn't have eaten that much. So nothing for us tonight, I'm on a strict diet. Already too slim, am I not? I can't help - after that feast last time I can barely stomach anything. My upset stomach needs more time to recover. You on the other hand... Ow!

See - my picknick basked contains just bread - the one I made myself - and cheese and a bottle of water. No vine. Just water, mind you. You do not trust me? Try it, it is nothing but water!

Have I told you about Samarkand before? No? Well, then this is the perfect opportunity here and now.

Travelling with that merchant had its benefits, especially after I had proven my skills as magician-guard. They all treated me with great respect, bowing deeply when serving me and I have to admit I absolutely loved being treated like a prince. I did not have much work to do, they cared for me well, I just had my exercise with Chang, which I greatly enjoyed now. It was... well, we even allowed them to watch us, for I was doing the most spectacular exercises - which are good for show but I wouldn't use them in a real fight - and this only heightened their respect and fear for me.

What other people called a strenuous journey was the perfect holiday for me. Yes, holiday. I mean it. Getting up, getting my breakfast served, riding all day, doing some workout, then getting my dinner served, my tent put up, my clothes cleaned, my horses looked for - that was just great.

The merchant cared very well for his employees. We had enough food, and a very fine quality. Bread, cheese, water, milk, even meat and fresh fruits. Do you know how hard it is to get fruits in these desert mountains? And sweets. Candied dates, figs with honey... God, my mouth is watering when I just think of it!

I was growing fast and by begin of summer I was the tallest one on that caravan. I have to admit that average people in that area of the world are smaller than average Europeans. I do not know why, maybe it is their heritage, maybe it is due to malnourishment in their youth. But then, I had suffered hunger and very hard work myself and I did not stay small. I am... a bit over the average height, I guess, but not too tall.

My life so far had not been easy and I had far too often not been able to eat my fill and now I had such rare delicacies! Yes, I did gain weight, but I was growing so fast, it didn't show much. The merchant constantly complained about the strenuous journey while I felt like I was on holiday or on a cure in a health resort. The heat? Yes, that was a problem - but if you have a nice long siesta each day during the greatest heat it is no problem. We got up early and had a five-hours-rest at noon, then went to bed late at night.

But with that easy life another problem resurfaced - I was a man. When we were in a village or a city I saw women. Of course I did not just approach them or behaved badly, no, certainly not, I'd never do that, but... whenever I saw one of the little tents that covered a female my imagination went wild. I guess no woman can ever be so beautiful as I could imagine her. I knew absolutely nothing about them and I couldn't see them - but in my imagination they were... tempting. Living in the same tent as Chang I did not have the necessary minimum of privacy to deal with my urges and I grew restless. Of course my teacher noticed and told me to take care. "You only have one first time and you will remember it for the rest of your life - which hopefully will be many decades from now on. It can be a wonderful memory you will enjoy or it can torment you for the rest of your life. It is your decision, but I warn you, there might be a very high price to pay for a few moments of lust."

As always, he was right. But I was a fifteen year old boy and of course I saw what the other men did. In cities they looked for orphans living in the streets and offered good food as payment for their services, girls and boys alike. At first I turned away in horror, my memory of that dancing boy was too fresh and I recognized the signs of illness and drug-addiction in their faces and bodies. Some of them were even older than I was and I knew without a doubt that without Chang I would have ended up exactly like them. I could not do it to them, I pitied them far too much.

The closer we came to Samarkand, the more other caravans and merchants we met. I tried my "I'm a real magician" attitude with them too and was surprised to find that the more arrogant I was the more they would treat me with respect. Until then I had believed that because I was such a lowly creature I had to humble myself and be grateful not to be beaten and kicked and chased away. But now I learned that it was the other way round: The more I arrogant and haughty I acted, the more they treated me like I really deserved respect. I did not fool myself into believing they really respected me - it was fear. Fear of what a dark magician could do. I did shows, yes, and since I did not take money, Chang - still acting as my humble servant - took care to collect the Money and of course stealing from those who did not give freely, but he would never steal from those who dropped coins in his bowl. I always claimed to be above such earthly pursuits like money and did what I did just for my own amusement.

It worked much better than I had ever thought it would. My shows drew in people and somehow my voice had a new quality to it. I could not really control it then, but my magic show and my music dulled men's wits and made them easier to bargain with. It was the merchant who pointed this out to me one evening when I was his guest again for dinner. I tried to hide my astonishment behind an arrogant smile and took a glass of tea I was offered. Shrugging a little I said to him: "What did you expect from a magician?" He laughed at that and begged my forgiveness for ever doubting me.

He met some of his colleagues and they formed a larger caravan together with their various goods - and me as their protector and good luck charm. I was surprised that we did not encounter robbers, just some thieves, but most of them were easy to expose and once I had shown them I knew what they were doing they gave up and looked for easier prey. And those who fooled even me - well, they deserved what little they could steal. Questionable ethics? No, I do not think so. If I have the right to steal whatever I can I have to accept that if there is a better thief than me he has the right to steal from me, same goes for a situation of stupid carelessness on my side.

One night some of the workers had traded something for kath leaves. You know what kath leaves are? A drug, it makes you feel wide awake and happy, but sometimes it makes you aggressive and it dulls any moral sense. Not that my moral sense was that high, but... well, they asked me politely if I liked to try some. I should have said no, I knew perfectly well what Chang had taught me - stay away from every kind of drugs, be it alcohol or whatever. Everything that might dull my alertness and concentration is too dangerous, it can cost my life. Every weakness can be used against me - and will be used by my enemies. Leave your house and you meet a thousand enemies. I guess that number was metaphorical, he just wanted to tell me that whomever I met could be my archenemy and bound for blood. I should always be on alert and wide awake, never allow myself to be intoxicated or dreamy.

Of course I did not listen to him. The respect everyone was showing me did nothing good to my character and in my haughtiness I saw Chang as an old man who might be right in his teachings for an actual spy and assassin, but I was neither. I was just a trickster, so there would be no need to keep up that rigid discipline. Plus, he could not scold me without revealing his true identity as my teacher instead of my servant. I really fooled myself into believing I had outsmarted him. What a fool I was.

I accepted the leaves and did chew them. The taste is ugly, but the effect was something I did enjoy. Somehow the drug made all of us a bit more sociable, in that it was a bit like alcohol, it dulled everyone's alertness and mistrust and made it easier to interact. The men told me about a place where the most beautiful whores were and how cheap they were. I decided to give it a try for I had decided I would disregard Chang's warning. Being as ugly as I was - and still am - I thought to hell with any moral qualms - if I have any chance to lay somebody, I'll do it. Who knew how many chances I would get in my whole life anyway? I was no girl, so why should I save my virginity for someone? I surely did not think I would ever have any chance to find a wife, a mistress, a lover... so why should I deny myself?

The whores were the same like in every city - poor girls, boys and women, dirty, ill, stinking, most of them drug addicted or alcoholics. And yet I envied them for they were desired by men while I would never be desired by anyone, women and men alike. Envy and the effect from the leaves made me careless enough to stay when the men bargained with one of the cleaner looking girls. She agreed to sleep with all of us - we were six men, if I count myself as a man - and followed us to the camp outside the village.

They took her into a tent and had it their way with her. One after the other. I watched in disgusted fascination, in that I was no different from everyone else. I just stared, most of my feelings numbed by the drug, except my hunger for a woman. Under normal circumstances I would have turned away in disgust, now I was willing to participate.

No boy should lose his virginity like that - participating in some sort of rape - even if the woman had agreed, she was so drugged, I thought she didn't really know what was happening to her, and it surely was some sort of rape. I stopped thinking or feeling anything but that despicable lust, I didn't see or hear anything anymore, I just existed and acted purely on instinct like any animal would do. All I wanted was something my instincts told me I needed, my ability for rational thought was long gone. It was great. I didn't last long, it was over in few moments and I came to my senses again, struggling to catch my breath. The woman beneath me seemed to be unconscious with drugs and I thought, if I had already slept with her, I might as well try to steal a kiss. I had never kissed a human being before, nor had I ever received a kiss and now I would not get a real kiss, just steal one from a whore who was drugged into oblivion. But I wanted it nevertheless. So I took off my mask.

You cannot imagine my horror as her face twisted in terror at the sight of my exposed ugliness only inches away from her face, her mouth opened in a silent scream. Then her eyes rolled backwards until I saw only the white of them in the bluish moonlight. She stopped breathing. I panicked, shook her, begged her to wake up again, promised to marry her and do everything she asked me to if she would just breathe again. But she was dead. She died in my arms of sheer terror at my sight and touch, just as my mother had predicted.

I am not entirely sure what happened next. I guess I just ran for I remember running away through the darkness and getting completely lost. I had no idea where I was, I just ran until I found the edge of town and left, and just fled. I must have stumbled for I remember rolling down a hillside, my head hit something, then everything went black.

My next memory is waking up to find myself lying in my tent, Chang sitting next to me, looking at me so sadly. I cried out and flung myself in his arms, unable to stop my tears, shaking with violent sops, not only tears running from my face but mucus from my nose and salvia from my mouth. I still wonder how Chang could endure holding me in his arms when he had to endure that disgusting sight of me sobbing.

I cried until I passed out again. When I woke I felt nothing. Nothing at all. Can you imagine feeling absolutely nothing? At first I was relieved that the pain was over, but then I found I could not get up. I did not find the strength to get up. I was just lying there staring at the black tent. Chang came in and told me to get dressed, the caravan would move on soon. I did not answer, I found I could not. I was... I felt like I was already buried beneath an invisible weight, and it was far too heavy to move. I felt like I had been buried alive under tons of sand. Chang went outside to saddle the horses, then came back, like the good servant he pretended to be. I was still lying on my back without moving.

"Erik, get dressed!" he said, scuffled out. I stared at the tent pole. He came back and snapped at me annoyed: "Erik! Hurry up, get dressed!" He did not leave me, obviously not trusting me to get up now. I did not move. I couldn't, and I didn't care. He came to me, grabbed my hair and pulled me upright. I did not feel the pain, I felt nothing. I sat there, slumped down, sitting there, staring at my feet. He poked at me with his finger, hitting exactly the nerve-points that were most painful, but I felt nothing. He snapped his fingers before my eyes and I did not flinch or blink.

And then something absolutely crazy happened. I left my body. Well, at least I thought I did, I know that this is not possible, but I really felt that I was getting up, going away from Chang and sitting down on the other side of the small tent. But my body stayed where it was and I saw it from the outside, I saw my naked body, my legs, arms, torso bruised as if I had been beaten. I knew I did not wear a mask, I was stark naked, but I did not see my face though. Where a face should have been I saw only emptiness, a hole, and it was not even black, it was grey. I did not see my beard and I did not see my brown hair as it really was - a long brown mane, ill-kept - I saw myself having curls down to my shoulders, but in reality it was much longer.

I sat there, feeling nothing, watching Chang dressing my body and covering it with my black mask and the black shawl. I should be scared, but I was not. I saw him frown at my feet which were sore due to my too small shoes - they had been fitting perfectly only two months ago - and start to dress me nevertheless. I watched from outside with indifference, feeling absolutely nothing and not wanting to do anything. I could see my head lolling to the side. Chang slept me and I felt nothing, I barely heard the slap.

Someone was at the "door" of the tent and called out in Russian that they were ready and if we needed help getting our tent packed and stuffed to our pack-horse. Chang did not understand Russian and called out in English that we needed a few moments.

He took out a knife and cut my arm a bit. I did not feel the steel piercing through my skin, but suddenly I was back in my body and moved my head to look at him. He was very worried, I could see that he was on the verge of panic. "For God's sake, Erik, answer me!" he breathed.

"What?" I grunted, annoyed that he had forced me out of my absolutely oblivious and peaceful state of mind.

"Get up, we need to get going," he said. I tried to, but all I could do was pushing myself to my knees, then stayed there. "Erik, what is it?" Chang asked alarmed and I shrugged. I had no idea, but I felt so terribly tired, my body was so heavy, I wanted to lie down again and sleep... sleep and never wake up again. I lacked the strength to do anything at all.

This time another man called us, one who spoke a bit English.

"He's in deep meditation," Chang answered, trying to explain my state staying true to the magician I should be impersonating. "He does that every so often. I do not know the details, but he is not to be disturbed."

Chang had to lead me to my horse and help me into the saddle. I overheard them talking that I had drained the life-force from that woman with my kiss, that I was some sort of ghoul, eating the soul of the living with my death's kiss. A ghoul is a demon who feeds on the living, a ghoul is always bad and can never do something good while a djinn can be good or bad. I heard everything but I could not bring myself to feel anything or to react. I felt nothing, I was in some kind of trance, unable to react and yes, sometimes I felt that I left my body again, stood aside and watch the caravan from afar.

I stayed in this horrible state for about a week, Chang had to nurse me, to dress me, feed me and care for my every need. I did not feel anything and my body seemed to have some extra-brain to function on its own without me. Yes, sometimes I thought I saw it move around without me, sitting somewhere else, watching. Chang had to dress me, undress me, feed me with some kind of puree. He would put a spoon full of it into my mouth. At first I did not close my lips and did not swallow, so it ran out again. Chang soon learned how to place his left hand under my chin so he would give me puree or water with a spoon, then lift my chin to make it run backwards in my mouth until the swallowing reflex set in. And yes, he had to take me outside, he had to untie the waistband of my pants and he had to tell me to relief myself outside of our tent. That was something else - I did not feel the need to go outside, I was like a baby who can't control his body. Far too often my teacher had to degrade himself to clean my soiled clothing.

Yes, I knew all these things, but there was nothing I could do about it. I did not feel shame or anything else - I felt absolutely nothing but the invisible weight that was holding me - as if I was struck in invisible quicksand.

Until one night something funny happened. Chang was asleep and I was sitting next to our bodies, watching us breathing evenly. My body sat up and took a knife and cut its leg. And I was back in my body and felt, for the first time since an eternity it seemed, pain. Not much pain, but I was relieved to feel anything at all. I cut myself again, deliberately, just to feel anything again.

Chang woke up and stared in horror at the blood that was seeping from my wounds.

"Erik, what are you doing?" he asked horrified.

"I returned to my body," I answered, "I want to feel again." The shocked expression on his face was priceless and I chuckled. I guess I was completely mad at that time and only madness caused the hallucinations that I was leaving my body.

From that day on I was able to behave normally again, but there was some strange alien feeling, some alienation from my body. As if not I had killed the girl but she had taken my life from me. Of course I know she was dead, the horror of my attempted kiss had frightened her so much, her heard had stopped beating. My mother had been right, my touch could kill a woman. But not every touch, only a kiss. My kiss of death. I swore to myself never to ask for a kiss or try to kiss again, a woman dying in my arms, this was some horror I would never experience again, no matter how much I longed to try. The price was too high, the price the girl had paid and the price I had paid for her death would forever haunt me in my nightmares.

Being able to feel again was not something I liked. The horror of that night came back every time I tried to sleep. I cried myself to sleep at night and I woke sweat-soaked and shuddering in terror. Chang, who still shared the bedroll with me, usually took me in his arms to give me comfort. "O Erik, my poor Erik, why do you have to repeat every single mistake generations before you made in thousands of years? Why can't you just listen to me?" he sighed.

"I'm so sorry for not listening to you, sir," I whispered into the folds of his shirt, "I swear I will obey you from now on."

"Until next time you feel I am just an old fool and do not know what I say," he grumbled. Had I involuntarily told him about this without being able to remember?

"I'm sorry, sir," I whispered, ashamed.

He sighed again and gently stroked the back of my head and my shoulders. "O Erik, I have been young once and thought in the same way as you do now. I do not give you orders to annoy you but to protect you from harm."

I cannot recall why but I asked him about his first time. Mine had been an absolute horror and diminished my sexual needs to nothing - at least for the moment. They came back much later, but that is another story. I wondered what had happened to him that he had assumed my first time would be terrible as well.

"I traded it for two blades," he answered softly, "My teacher had warned me not to, I would always regret it and feel ashamed, but I did not listen to her."

"Her?"

"My teacher was a woman," he answered, "And I thought she told me that just because she was a woman and had no idea what it would be like for a man. Well... I should have listened to her." We both glanced to the scabbards that lay next to our heads. He nodded. "These blades are hundreds of years old. Opposite to a katana they do not have a name, but they seem to have a soul nevertheless. They are like us, they have no names and no honor, but they do have souls. This one is about five hundred years old and this one is about three hundred years old. They are priceless. Priceless and dangerous."

I stared at the blades. They looked like they had been forged just yesterday, perfect in every detail. "I would gladly trade myself for these blades," I answered softly, "But no one would even give a pebble to have my body. If you wanted me, you could have me anytime and I would never ask anything in return." I meant that "you" in the meaning of "one" or "someone" but obviously he misunderstood.

"Erik, I would never do that to you," he answered seriously, "If I took advantage of you in any way - especially in any sexual way - you would forever lose your faith in me and I would never be able to teach you from that day on. If you ever happen to have a pupil, Erik, never even think of taking advantage of him or her. Your pupil would not deny you, a properly trained pupil never says no, but he or she would never trust you again and your bond would be broken. You would forever lose him or her."

I broke into a hysterical fit of laughter. I could not control myself, there surely was nothing funny, I laughed like a panicked hyena.

Sometimes I wonder how easily my sanity was restored. When we reached Samarkand, I was in full possession of my mental faculties. The nightmares were still there, but I had learned to live with them.

What? No, I think I was sane. Haha. As if that was funny. I've heard that one too often. "As if I was sane now." Haha. Now I am really offended.

Okay, apology accepted. I know most people think I am a madman, just because I am different, in body and soul, like it or not. It is the truth.

Samarkand... you've never been there, have you? It is such a beautiful city.

Samarkand is a very old city on the Silk Road. Even ancient Rome imported silk from China, did you know that? And caravans took it there, thousands and thousands of kilometers since thousands of years. It is old, very old, the oldest part of it is some sort of an ancient oasis. It is beautiful. Really. The architecture, the mosques, the palace, the parks... God, it is a wonder of urban architecture, I loved it. Some people think that Samarkand existed twelve hundred years B.C. Can you imagine that? An archaeologist's paradise.

I was overwhelmed when I saw the Registan in the sunrise, if Chang had not held me back I would have gone there immediately, I was so carried away by its beauty. The Bibi Khanym Mosque, the Gur-i-Amir mausoleum, the Shah-i-Zinda mausoleums... You see, some of these great buildings were partly in ruins, left for the people to plunder in search of bricks for their homes, but nevertheless these buildings were... beautiful. They say that Samarkand even had an observatory in 1420 when in Europe it was the dark age - and they had an observatory, the Ulugh Bek observatory, but it had been destroyed by Moslems who thought this was blasphemy.

Blasphemy - that reminds me of another problem. Again I worked as magician to earn our livelihood, always taking care Chang was as comfortable as possible. I felt guilty for he had been forced to nurse me - a most disgusting duty. Of course people saw me and my magic when I did shows and my reputation was that I was a real magician, maybe even a ghoul or a demon, and as much as they loved to see my tricks and listen to my music - the sums Chang collected each day proved just how much they loved my shows - there were men who hated me. Not necessarily the Imams, not all of them. But there were some who thought I was a threat to the souls of everyone and should be stoned to death.

The merchants on the other hand did not think I was a ghoul or a djinn or a demon. They thought me to be a good magician who protected the innocent merchants from robbers. And I was good for their business, for whenever I had done a show people would be easier to bargain with afterwards. It was really strange, but after one of my shows people were... more open-handed. So when I requested some presents - I really had the audacity to just go to them and tell them I wanted this or that - they generously gave it to me. Usually I requested things I liked to have for my shows, but there were other things too... gemstones. I loved gemstones. I acquired two rings, a brooch plus a necklace and earrings. I adorned myself with these jewels like a woman would do. Please do not ask me why, I just did it and no one ever asked why I did what I did. Everyone accepted that a magician never behaved like a normal man would.

That way I got new clothes. I still preferred black. Wide, black clothes. Black boots. A black kaftan, black Turkish trousers, black boots, a black coat, black scarf to hide my hat and a black mask, additional to the black mask I usually had some sort of veil, not the sort women use, the sort men in the desert use to protect themselves from the dust and the sand. I needed it to stop breathing in sand. I simply had to cover my nose-hole or I would suffocate on sand when the wind became stronger.

It was summer and it was hot, really hot, in Samarkand. Hot and dry like a desert. Spring and autumn would have been more to my liking, but I happened to be there in summer.

Where was I? Ah, yes, the problem with these superstitious men who wanted to get rid of me. Well, I have to admit that with the new game Chang and I started to play I might have earned some really bad reputation. The new game was "if you were an assassin and this man was your victim, how would you kill him?". I did not really kill them for killing for sports was nothing Chang approved of. Our idea was that he would point out someone to me and I should mark him with a piece of chalk. The mark would count as being stabbed or hit with a poisoned shuriken. A harmless game between friends.

Not so harmless, you say? Why, have you ever seen anyone killed with a piece of chalk?

Okay, I admit that during our games we did not only mark these men with chalk, we stole whatever we could get, mostly small things that could be easily hidden but with great value and money.

First our targets were some unsuspecting common men, but we went higher and higher in the challenge level and risk and finally my targets were aristocrats, religious, economical and socially high ranking men. Whenever Chang found the challenge was not high enough he would assume the role of the bodyguard and try to stop me. I do not think I could really have bested him, but he allowed me to win in our game whenever he thought it necessary for my training and made me lose whenever I made serious mistakes. It was fun, and not only that, when we discussed the architecture of the houses we had been roaming, we would discuss what could be done better to give the owner of these buildings advantage over the intruder. It was mostly about alarm devices, secret passageways, hidden trapdoors, hidden weapons and so on. I liked that game for I could prove my superiority over the great architects of the glorious ancient times. They never thought about the obvious task of preserving the lives of the inhabitants of their buildings.

What a pity our dreams of a palace that would defend itself against spies, assassins and invading troops without much trouble for its inhabitants were just dreams. It would have been a glorious palace, combining Chang's knowledge of Japanese architecture, my knowledge of what modern conveniences Europeans liked to have in their houses and the beauty of the oriental architecture we saw each day. All we build back then was a castle in the clouds, but it was the most beautiful palace anyone could ever imagine, even if it existed only in our minds and in form of some sketches on papers we had to burn because we needed to keep our secrets.

The merchant? O yes, I forgot to tell you. He asked me to accompany him on his next trip, but I refused for Chang and I had decided it was time to live independent, just the two of us. But the merchant told me he had bought valuable furs form a merchant who got them from Siberia, he wanted to sell them in Persia and come back from Persia to Nijni Novgorod in Russia. Nijni Novgorod was the most important trade city in Russia, according to the merchant. I did not give it much thought, I just said that maybe I would like to see that city too. A careless comment and I forgot all about it almost the very moment the sound had left my lips.

Chang thought it might be a good idea to move to Russia. We had to keep moving, actually the climate in Samarkand was becoming a bit too hot for our tastes. In both senses. Chang was an expert in fighting and I was not bad myself, but... well, we could only fight so many people. Once they would form a mob we would be more or less helpless. There is a critical number of people and then they are too many to fight and you can't win.

We left like thieves in the night, and that is what we actually were. Thieves and tricksters, but now we were rich thieves and tricksters.

What do you mean I should not be proud of being a thief? Why not? I am one of the best - why wouldn't I be proud?

We left Samarkand in quite a rush in the night. We were actually laughing and enjoying ourselves. Curious just how much my mind was able to block out the horror of the dying woman in my arms.

We did move on. Chang decided it would be better for me to return to Europe since I would be able to make more money there as a magician in a circus. We discussed endlessly and I even told him of the revue theaters - some had nothing but magic shows - and that this might be my chance to get into something I really wanted to do - opera. I was fully aware that with my face I could never have any position where the audience would see me. No musician, no singer. But I could be director or scene builder and with my knowledge of magic I would be able to do the most spectacular stagings of all time. It was another childish dream never to come true, but I refused to acknowledge that. I needed something to keep me going for if I had just accepted I would never be anything but a sideshow-freak I would have killed myself.

We traveled west to Turkmenistan for Chang had decided that we should use the ship to cross the Caspian Sea. I did not like ships, my seasickness, you know, but I still did not dare to say no. I just told him about my seasickness and he just shrugged and said a bit vomiting didn't scare him. No, it did not scare me, but I'd rather avoid it.

Turkmenistan is... well, different again. Every country is different. But when one travels as much as I do, the brain just shuts down and stops remembering everything. It would have been far too much. Turkmenistan is not easy to travel for most of it is the Kharakum Desert, which we could not simply cross. We needed to travel along the roads, always taking care to get enough water and food and of course feed our horses properly.

Again I lived as travelling magician, most of the time earning money with shows, they got better and better. Yes, really. My tricks improved very much for Chang cared to lead the way and I had much time to think and calculate new tricks or improvements on old ones. Of course I preferred to act the "real magician" and not the travelling entertainer. As a real magician I would be treated with respect and fear, as travelling entertainer I was nothing than a gypsy - although I was no gypsy by blood - an outcast. That was not something I liked. A circus freak, not much better than a well-trained monkey. People would watch my tricks, even applaud and pay - although much less than when they thought I was a real magician - and then I had to stay out of their way or they would violently show me my place at the very bottom of society.

Yes, I still had to fear being beaten. I was an adequate fighter then, but there was a critical number of opponents when I knew I was hopelessly outnumbered and any attempt to protect myself from mistreatment like being spat at or slapped or pushed away would only result in more violence. In these occasions Chang could not help me. If we were attacked by a smaller group, I often could fight them on my own, sometimes Chang and I had to fight side by side to protect ourselves, but when we were hopelessly outnumbered all Chang could do was to bring the horses and our belongings away and wait for them to get bored with their game of taunting and let me go. All I could do was enduring the humiliation and leave as soon as they would permit it.

No, I did not tell you these things did happen before, because I hated that. I absolutely hate that memory. But sometimes I was helpless and had to endure patiently for it was all I could do to survive. But the better my tricks got, the less these things happened.

One day in Turkmenistan, don't ask me when or where, we met Mongolian merchants at some sort of fair. It was not really a fair, but close enough. I was doing my show there, in the open for in the hot summer night it was better to be outside. It was early night and dark enough so darkness concealed some of my props. In a tent or on a stage everyone would have assumed I used certain props, outside no one thought that I might have black tools hidden by darkness. Funny.

My show that time started with the beheading trick. That had to come first for I could barely see with my head covered in my cloak. Then the "my-head-grows-back" and after that usually some fire trick like juggling with fire to scare them with the view of my bare face even more. They loved to be scared and the coins fell into Chang's bowl and he needed to empty the bowl into his leather bag every so often.

After I had proven to them that I could make water burn and ropes burn without being consumed by fire - a very simple trick, but they all fell for it - I sang something for them. Yes, I could sing again. I had a rich tenor voice I liked very much. I did not posses my full range at the age of 15 but I could sing again and that was something I loved.

Usually I did another trick then to show that I could even command gravity. No, I did not levitate, levitation tricks need too many assistants and the one who is flying is completely helpless. I wouldn't do that. I just took water, normal water, even drank from it to show it was nothing but water, in a bucket. Yes, a bucket. Like I take this glass right now. Fill it with water. And here I have a piece of paper. You see - nothing but a normal sheet of paper, this one is... O, yes, I removed this from the manager's desk, they mustn't read this one, we can use it. Normal paper as in every office. I put the paper on the glass and turn the glass upside down... Ha! See, not one drop runs from the glass! Of course it is much more impressive with a large bowl or bucket or vase than with a small glass, but I just wanted to demonstrate that it really works. Now you can drink it, I always let my audience drink it to show them that it really is nothing but water.

See? So very simple and quite impressive. I could do it with a barrel if I had someone who could lift it and enough paper.

Absolutely astonishing and really easy. But when you try it - try it in the bathroom until you got the knack.

Yes, I know, I digress again. I did not come here for a magic show. Well...

The mongolians watched my performance and stayed Long, even when everyone else had departed and Chang and I wanted to go to sleep. I was exhausted and had headache - but they were still there. I approached them and asked what they wanted, why they stared at me like that. I had expected them to be frightened but they threw themselfs at my feet and begged for mercy. I was about to laugh, this could only be a joke, but their leader begged for mercy again.

"Stop begging for mercy!" I exclaimed annoyed at their stupid game. "I do not like to be mocked!"

"We would never mock you, o great Erlik," he breathed. My jaw dropped and I had no idea what to say. Did he know my name? How? Chang always called me "sir" when we were not alone. I never told my name.

"Why do you call me Erik?" I asked as I finally was able to talk again.

I do not remember the whole conversation in every detail but what I do remember is that I finally found out that they thought me to be a demon of legend. You see, in mongol myths there is a demon called Erlik who is much the same as the devil in Christian tradition. Erlik is the teacher of sin, but not only that, he's spreading sickness and he is Death himself. He demands sacrifices or he kidnaps people and enslaves them in his underworld. Erlik is a monster with an animal's head and a human body. And seeing my face and my magic tricks they thought I might be Erlik himself or one of his nine sons.

Sometimes I wonder myself. I am certainly no demon, no, I never believed that nonsense. And I never believed that a demon would possess me - that would have been far too easy. It was the demon and not me - yes, that would be easy, but I have to face the awful truth that no one but I myself am responsible for what I do. No god, no devil, no man, no woman, only I myself. My decision, my responsibility. I know that. But if you ever tell that persisting dolt I admitted to this, I'll cut off your ears!

I took advantage of their superstition. I told them if they gave me two of their horses and one of their tents - a yurt - I would not harm them or their families. An easy promise to keep, I would never see them again. But they were so scared they really handed over a yurt, completely with felt to keep it warm, canvas, tent poles, ropes and so on. Plus two of their small but very strong horses, two young mares.

Chang and I laughed at their superstition. We knew I was no demon and would never have harmed them even if they had not "sacrificed" the horses and the yurt. Maybe we had picked their pockets, but that would be all.

A yurt is great, but we spent a lot of time until we figured out how to pitch that kind of tent and how to take it down again. I couldn't ask the Mongolians, could I? A demon of legend asking them how to pitch a tent - they would never believe that!

Now we traveled with two riding horses and three pack horses. As if that had not been enough I acquired another horse.

Yes, I am going to tell, don't fret.

We visited a horse-race. They breed a certain horse-breed in Turkmenistan, the Akhal-Theke. These are riding horses purely bred for endurance, they seemingly are able to gallop for days without tiring. They are bred for long-distance races through the desert, they look rather slim, not as elegant as Arab horses, but they are very good for dressage, jumping, long distance racing - and some of them have a golden coat. They are called "Golden Horses" and yes, in the light of the sun some Akhal Teke horses really look like they were made of pure gold.

Well, enough of that lecture. I'm not trying to sell you a horse, I am telling you a story. Around that horse-race was a fair and yes, entertainers such as I. Only that my show would begin at sunset. Until then I should prepare for the show, tend to my horses, do the laundry or whatever, but then I was a boy and not as disciplined as I should have been. So I went to watch the horse-race and pick a few pockets. A few - meaning I only picked pockets until I could not stuff another purse in my rather large coat-pocket without risking the fabric to rip. I did not hand them over to Chang and start another round of picking pockets.

The horses captured me. They were so beautiful and so fast, the stallions had a natural urge to show themselves and look good. Surely I did not need another horse, but... well, there was a man who had horses for sell. I asked about the price and was shocked to hear what one horse would be worth. Well, of course there would be some bargaining, but I watched and noticed how much people were willing to pay for his horses. I could not afford that much. But there was a stallion, he was quite young, about four years old, and when I went along the makeshift paddock he followed me like a puppy. I jumped over the fence and stood there and he came to me and rubbed his nose against my stomach, then tugged at my sleeve. I was lost. It was love on first sight.

"You want to buy him?" a gruff voice asked in Russian after I had unknowingly ignored his other attempts to talk to me.

"Yes..." I whispered, caressing his golden forehead almost as if I was under a spell, then I shook my head and tried to control myself and added: "Maybe." Never say you want something, the merchant will ask at least tenfold the price he hopes to receive. Bargaining works best when you pretend not to want anything. Of course he knew I wanted that horse, he had seen how I caressed it, how I had checked its teeth and eyes, ears, stomach, hooves and back. And he had seen how the horse always tried to get my attention and nibble on my coat, leaving it full of greenish slobber.

"He likes you," the man said. As if he had to point that out to me.

I turned round and braced myself for the mistrust I would see in his face when he noticed I wore a mask. He flinched, but did not back off, but he grabbed some sort of talisman and spat at the ground at my feet. I took a sharp breath and tried to hold my temper in check. "Do not sell him today. I need to think about this and let you know tomorrow," I promised.

He must have followed me for I saw him attending to the show I staged in the evening - the one where I even made my mare disappear. All I could think about was that this trick and maybe some other tricks too would look much better with the golden stallion.

We made good money that evening and Chang did not have to steal much for nearly all people gave freely. But then Chang made the mistake of telling me how much he had saved and that it surely would buy the ship passage to Astrakhan.

You already anticipate what I did that night? I stole it. Well, stealing might not be the right term for part of it was mine anyway, I had worked hard to earn it, but then, yes, the other part was his. We never even mentioned about the shares. We earned the money, we spent it to buy what we needed - that's it. It was not like I get 30% and he gets 70% or something like that. And now I stole it in that night, surprising myself that I did not wake Chang despite his alerted sleep. Yes, he could sleep like a cat, with his ears always awake to catch the slightest noise. I learned that myself and yes, it saved my life on numerous occasions.

But I stole the money noiseless. So I was at the paddock at sunrise. It did not take much time and the horse trader arrived. I still had not enough money to buy that horse, but I made him an offer he could not refuse - I caught him with my lasso and offered him to sign the papers that would make me, Erik Ami Hein, the rightful owner of that prized stallion. Yes, they had papers for the Akhal Tekke are valuable race horses so there is a stud book and every horse is branded and can easily be identified. I did not want to risk being caught with a stolen horse. My other horses were just common horses no one would ever care to identify. You see, that Akhal Tekke was... the difference is like a Stradivarius and a common flute. Both are music instruments to make beautiful music if you know how to play them - but everyone can easily afford a flute, but a Stradivarius on the other hand... You see, same with horses.

Well, I was honest enough to pay him. I paid what I could, which was almost everything I had and covered at least half of that stallion's worth.

It was not easy to ride the stallion back to where Chang and I had put up our tent. Until then I had mares and geldings - a stallion is something else altogether. He tried if I would be able to stay in the saddle. He tried not to follow and I had to use the whip more than once to get him going. So I rode him all morning, trying to adjust to him as he tested my abilities as horseman.

When we arrived at the tent at noon we were bathed in sweat and dust and my back and legs hurt so much I could not dismount and fell to the ground inelegantly. Before I had any chance of getting my bearings Chang was on me. I could only hope no one saw us for it was broad daylight. Of course we had put up our tent as far away from the city and other travelers as possible, but one could never know who might see us. Chang did not care. I tried to fight him, but he was a much better fighter than I was, he did not need speed or strength, all he needed was his decades of intensive training and experience.

I remember that he did beat me until I passed out. I woke in our yurt, lying on the ground, blood running from my nose, both eyes swollen, I do not know what did not hurt. The blood running from my mouth came from the tooth I had lost. Three ribs on my left side were broken and I had a severe concussion.

"What did you think you were doing, you irresponsible fool?" he snapped as soon as he knew I was awake.

I tried to answer but my lips were split, bleeding and swollen, I barely managed to let out a groan.

"That money was not for buying a horse, it was for our ship passage to Astrakhan. How do you think we should do that now? We can't steal a ship passage!"

He said many things more but I can't remember for I passed out again.

I woke because I felt water in my mouth. He was feeding me water with a spoon. I had trouble swallowing and was barely conscious as I heard him say: "Erik, you are a bitter disappointment. You stole form ME - from your Sensei. You bring ultimate disgrace on me. You are no longer my pupil!" That last sentence hurt so much, it was worse that everything I had ever experiened, even worse than my parent's rejection.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered, "What can I do?"

"Die."

Just one word. Die. He wanted me to commit suicide to erase the shame. Why I brought disgrace on him and not on me? O, because he was my teacher, he was responsible for everything I did.

He nursed me back to health for three weeks, then asked me what I had decided to do. I didn't answer, I took one of the blades and held it out to him. Then I knelt down and bowed my head, indicating he should behead me. I felt the icy steel at my neck and heard him taking his stance, but I did not try to get away. I was ready to die then, but he lowered his blade and I felt his hand at my neck as he pushed me to the ground, face down so I could hardly breathe.

"I no longer trust you," he hissed, "You are a childish, stupid boy and a disgrace. You do not think, you just act. You are like a toddler and from now on you do exactly as I say when I say. You will not even draw one single breath without my permission. Understood?"

"Yes," I gasped and spit sand and earth that was in my mouth.

When we left the tent I was surprised to see the Akhal Teke stallion there with the other horses. I had guessed Chang might have sold him. "I understand why you are doing this, young fool," he said, "And I would not sell the horse. But you will repay me trice, understood?"

I can barely remember the next month, we were traveling around, I had to do magic shows, I had to burglarise and I had to train the stallion and did not get any reprieve from my exercise. All I remember is being constantly hungry, thirsty and exhausted. Sometimes I fainted from exhaustion, Chang dragged me up somehow and forced me to go on. I completely missed autumn and winter and the day I turned 16.

To my relieve we could afford the ship passage in January, this giving me a few days of much needed rest. After seasickness was over, that is. The first 24 hours on that blasted ship I was at the tail of the ship, bent over the ship's rail, vomiting. And next to me about eight other men with the same problem. We did not get much reprieve, for whenever we were to sit down and hope for a bit of rest one would start retching again and the other's followed.

And then we came to Astrakhan. Nice city with many merchants and people who could afford to enjoy entertainment. Chang told me not to stress the part of the real magician too much. Better keep people wondering if I was a real magician or not, but never say yes or no. We did no longer pretend him to be my servant, now he pretended to be my grandfather. He was 74 and I was 16, so yes, he could very well be my grandfather. My honored ancestor, an old man is like a gem. And again I was more or less a slave, but I never complained. He told me I could always take my Akhal Teke - whom I named Deinos - that is Greek for the Terrible - after one of the man-eating horses of Diomedes of Greek myth. I had forgotten that the mythological horses had been female.

Haha. Yes, I laughed very much when I learned that. But you see - I could not just rename him. You can't re-christen someone and give him a new name. Of course you can give yourself an alias, but that is something you do yourself and are not given. Hmmm? Yes, right, considering his golden coat I should have named him Lampon, that is Greek for the Shining - and he was shining like gold in the bright sunlight and even more so in the light of torches if they were placed correctly.

In Astrakhan I begged Chang to make me his pupil again. He refused. He stayed with me, as he put it, so I could pay back my debt. And I did what I could - I handed over everything I had, my rings, my earrings and the necklace - I had a golden necklace with a pendant in form of a cobra. I gave him everything, without ever asking if I had already paid him back. And he still refused to teach me. He refused, no matter how much I begged, no matter I tried to exercise alone until I fainted from exhaustion and hurt myself more than once. He saw it and ignored me. We had to live together in the tent for we had no other place but I had to sleep on the ground and was not allowed to come to the bed - well, bedroll, that is.

What was mine and what was his - good question. I hnestly do not know. You see, we did not really say this is mine and this is yours. We had what we had andwe used whatever we needed to use. I guess our clothes were ours, Deinos was mine as were my props and the lasso that I started to call "Punjap lasso" after the place where I first learned its use. His weapons were his, but everything else - I guess it was just ours.

When we left Astrakhan tohead north for we wanted to follow the Volga to Nijni Novgorod. You see, Nijni Novgorod had a famous fairground and it was an economic centre and we thought we might make good money there - spend spring, summer and beginning of autumn there and leave before the icy Russian winter would set in. Father Frost is a merciless parent.

I begged Chang to teach me again. We rode side by side, the packhorses following us. My left hand was bandaged - I can't remember why, must have been some accident - and Deinos took advantage to pull the reins from my hands so I could barely hold him back. He wanted to run, he didn't like the walk the other horses needed. We usually traveled in a walk for we did not want to overexercise the packhorses.

Chang sighed and answered: "Only if you give me your most valuable possession in return."

I tried to figure out what he wanted. Certainly not one of my props for I doubted he would ever want a career as magician. Not that he would not be able to - he was clever and had a keen eye, I guess he knew how most of my tricks worked. Since I had given him whatever money or jewelry I had I did not think he could possibly talk of that. The only thing I had left was Deinos - and Deinos was a perfect show horse, he was a limelight hog and loved to be admired. Traveling was just boring to him except when he was in galopp. My heart ached as I thought of giving him away. But was it really Deinos he wanted? Or was it the violin?

Finally I decided to offer what I really considered my most valuable possession. "I'll give you everything," I said, "But it will take much time."

"Time?" he answered, not understanding what I was talking about, "What is it you consider most precious?"

"My knowledge." I was absolutely honest with him and my answer surprised him so much he was speechless for a while, a rather long while. I did not dare push him but I was so anxious, I guess Deinos noticed, tossed his head and the reins were ripped from my hands. As soon as Deinos felt I was no longer holding him back he did what he liked most - run. I had to hold onto the saddle with both hands hoping not to fall. It took me quite a whild to find my balance and take the reins so I could at least steer the stallion.

It was late afternoon when I was finally able to find Chang. As usual he had just followed the road and then finally stopped and unsaddled the horses. He waited for me because we could not put up the yurt alone, we needed each other's help. Deinos was happy, he had finally been able to get a nice little workout - and I felt as if I had been put through a meat grinder. Again I fell when I tried to dismount. Deinos turned his head and nibbled on my head, taking off my cap and mask, then nibbled on my hair, leaving the usual slobber. I turned and he nuzzeld my face with this soft velvet nose of his.

Chang took hold of his bridle and led him away to where he had tied the other horses to posts. I got up and whiped the slobber from my hair the best I could. Then I approached Chang and knelt down at his feet, patiently waiting for his answer. He knelt down too so we faced each other. His face grew soft and the look in his eyes was a gentleness I had never associated with him. "Your answer shows great wisdom far beyond your years," he said and I bowed to him, trying not to show my excitement at his praise. When I straitened up and sat back on my heels he continued: "You are forgiven, my son."

My jaw dropped. Son? He had called me son! That was in his culture enough to adopt someone. I wanted to jump and fling my arms around his neck, embrace him, but I did not dare. But I just bowed deeply and answered "Thank you, my father."

After that day I only called him - with all due respect and love - father and he called me either Erik or stupid boy, as always. But I smiled when he did this, I smiled at his reproach and I smiled when he punished me for I loved him and was sure he loved me too.

You cannot imagine how greatful I was for his love and now I understood a child's love for his parent. I was certainly far from being an ideal son - I was rebellious, undisciplined, selfish, lazy and haughty, all that, yes, and far too often I still ignored his guidance far too often for my own good. But I loved him so much, when it came down to it, I would have done everything for him. He was all I had and I had fought 16 years to find someone who loved me - even if he seldom showed much gentleness, I knew he loved me even when he had to punish me. It was just great.

Maybe these were the happiest days in my life, these cold days in Russian spring when we traveled to Nijni Novgorod.

Another occurance opened my heart that time. It was in some small village, I have forgotten its name, after a show. We had enough money to stay in the inn and have the horses in the stable - Deinos did not grow a winter coat like the others and we needed blankets to keep him warm - which was a rare luxury. I had changed from my costume to normal clothing, all in black and a black mask, when a knock at the door startled us. "Go away!" I snapped, not at all interested in a late customer, even if he might be willig to pay.

"Mr. Magician, sir, I need your help," a child's voice came from the door. Chang frowned and opened. I was busy sketching another dream palace for Chang and myself, a mix of European and Oriental style and his lectures about hidden trapdoors, secret passageways, defence systems and so on. Just another one of my dreams - and a good practice.

There was a small boy, about six or seven years old, he was dirty and had no shoes despite the cold. He did not even have rags to cover his feet. When he saw me he clenched his dirts grey-brown cap in his hands and held it like a shield. "Mr. Magician, sir, can you help me?" He must think me a real magician, I thought, and stepped to him. I knew my towering figure clad in black must have been intimidating and he trembled with fear but he did not run.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Sir, you are the greatest magician in the world, you have the knowledge of centuries. Please help my mama!" The boy begged, crying.

I did not know what to say or to do, glanced helplessly to Chang who just shrugged, indicating he did not know himself. I agreed to see the boy's mother, not knowing if I would be able to help her in any way.

The boy lead us - Chang accompanied us, curious what I might do - to a hole in the ground. The boy ducked down and showed us inside. The hole was about 3 squaremeter large and one and a half in height. I could not stand up and had to crawl. The boy lit a piece of wood and in the light of the makeshift torch I saw a woman lying in the ground. She was dead, partly mummified, and tanks to the bitter coldness in winter the stench was bearable. But I have to admit most people would not have been able to bear it - bu with my experience as grave-robber it was not that bad. What really shocked me that the boy told me they had lived there until his mother had fallen asleep last autumn and did not wake up. He had lived as beggar and returned every night to sleep beside her, hoping she would wake up. The boy did not know she was dead.

knelt before him and looked him in the eyes. "What is your name?" I asked.

"Boris Wassiljewitsch," he answered.

"Boris, your mother is dead. I cannot bring back the dead," I answered.

The boy broke down sobbing in my arms and I looked to Chang for help. I had just turned sixteen, this was far too much for me, but right now I did not have the heart to leave the boy int that hole in the ground with his dead mother. I took him with us, paid the innkeeper to give him a bath and a hot soup - borscht, the Russians favourite cabbage soup. Chang said nothing when I allowed the child to sleep on the floor next to our bed, he even kept silent when I took the boy with us for breakfast and then bought clothes and shoes for him.

Only then the child asked me what I wanted in return for my kindness.

"All I require is that you always respect me, obey without any questions at all and follow all rules to the letter," I told him, then added as an afterthought: "And you have to pay my father the respect he deserves. Worship him for he is a Saint."

Boris did not question this and somehow I became his father. Yes, I admit that I used him much in the same way Ivan had used me as assistant in my magic show. The boy was dutiful, obedient and really thankful, but I could not stand his childish behaviour and far too often raised my hand or the whip against him. I used my mother's technique of punishment, forcing him to beg for the punishment and thank me for that, no matter how unfair I was for I often punished him just for being a child. God, the boy was six years old. Six! And he was affectionate. Chang had much more patience with him and soon was his beloved grandfather, even if they could not talk to each other for Chang did not speak Russian and Boris did not speak English.

When he was asked about his name he now answered "Boris Erikowitsch" - Boris, Erik's son.

The problem was, as eager as he was to please me - he was clumsy and stupid. He never learned something if I told him once, I had to show him at least ten times and I soon found that he would never do any good as apprentice. Chang berated me for being far too hard on that poor boy - yes, to my eternal shame I did beat him for every mistake he made - after all, he was just six.

"I've not been older when I had to earn my bread," I replied angrily. I had so much work to do and the boy was good for nothing, he needed ten hours for something I could do in two. He was stupid and clumsy and never able to really concentrate on a task.

"Erik, he's of average intelligence and dexterity for a boy his age," Chang reasoned, "I appreciate that you did not just left him in that tomb but if you cannot accept that he is just a normal child and treat him accordingly, we better give him away. Don't you see how much you hurt him? This is going to escalate and you're beating him to death, do you realize that?"

The child had only been with us for three weeks and I had to agree with Chang. The boy was not worth the trouble although it pained me to give him away - despite everything the boy looked up to me and even if he saw me prepare my tricks he never ceased to think I was a real magician. Chang took it upon himself to give the child away, he turned him over to an orphanage. These orphanages had a terrible reputation for children would be abused and exploited, but I had to agree that this was better than having me as a surrogate father. I followed them secretly when Chang took the boy to the orphanage. The child still gave his name as "Boris Erikowitsch" and I cried at that humiliation. But Chang was right, I was incapable of becoming a child's guardian.

Hell, I was a child myself! I was sixteen! How could anyone expect me to be a child's guardian? As much as I desired a family, someone I could love, I was not able to deal with disappointment and frustration, I demanded that the boy should function flawlessly, which he couldn't and I learned later than no human being ever functions flawlessly. I did not have that problem with animals. Animals needed to be trained properly and if they misbehaved I knew their owner had done something wrong. Animals are not capable to be bad, they are completely driven by the instinct God had given them - so it is not their fault if they do something wrong. But I could not tolerate mistakes made by a human being who should have the mind to do it right.

Apropos animals - having a stallion and mares is not a good idea. In early spring they were in heat and there was no way to control Deinos. I didn't even try, I didn't dare - he would have killed me. Deinos had set his mind on creating a new mixed breed horse race and there was no way I could convince him not to. Of course I could have him castrated, but this somehow made me feel extremely uneasy, even Chang agreed that a prized stallion like the golden Deinos should not be castrated. So by the time we reached Nijnii Novgorod all three mares were pregnant.

Nijnii Novgorod was even better than I had expected it to be - the fairgrounds were large and it was... it was like a city in the city. I did not have a circus tent and the yurt was far too small for a real performance - especially one that would include Deinos who had already become part of my act, not just as disappearing horse but although in some other stunts. He was always eager to present himself, I guess, he loved the applause as much as I did.

I was sure that at fairgrounds of that size some sort of circus building or vaudeville theatre or something like that would be located and I was right. There was a circus building, it was more or less just one large hall with a stage large enough to do a horse-riding show. Not that I wanted my show to be a horse-riding act but I was tired of doing one trick after the other, I wanted to do a magic-opera. I had the complete plot for "Danse Macabre", including the props I would need, but I would need help. I would need dancers, assistants, musicians. I could not be the one on stage and accompany myself on a music instrument. So I talked to the owner of that circus if he wanted to stage my show. He thought it gruesome and dark, but that would be exactly what the bored high society would appreciate. Better have rich aristocrats in the audience than poor working class people. We agreed one one season.

Which was good, for I had absolutely no idea how to organize a theatre or a circus, how to find and hire people and so on. I knew how to design a show, write the music and build the props - but everything else I had never done and never learned. But there was a man, his name was Abrahamovics, I guess he was of jewish heritage, who knew what to do. I did not like the way he looked at me as if I was a prized exhibition for a museum. He did not care much about me and I did not care about him. It was strictly business - I had an idea for a good show and he needed a good evening show - no entrance for minors, of course.

No, not what you expected! The show was a magic show and not some questionable entertainment! It was... I better describe what it was.

It started with a dancer, a woman, in the spotlight, dancing to the tune of my violin. Then drums would set in and I came in on my stallion, bareback. The effect was always the same - Death himself on a golden horse. We danced together to the melody of the small orchestra that circus had. Whatever delusions I had that time about creating a chimera - magic, opera, ballet - it was nothing but a circus show, but in that it was a good one. The story of that show was about the girl having a nightmare or being visited by Death himself or whatever. It does not matter. Now there was a firework around and the other lights were lit. With all the lights one could see the mirrors. The mirrors were set up in a certain angle so it looked like multiple horses running around seemingly without touching the ground. It was a trick of mirrors and light and it helped much that it was obscured by the smoke of the firework.

Then one mirror after the other would be turned round until there was only one horse and one girl left and the music died down to my violin. Yes, I did play the violin while riding Deinos bareback. Next I did a bit of a levitation act - it was just violin and bowstring, but it never ceased to astonish the audience. You see, if the audience is far away they do not see thin ropes like black colored catgut or violin strings or piano strings, much less fishing lines. When I held up my violin I placed it in a sling of a fishing line and a helper would just pull it up. The violin disappeared into the darkness beneath the roof.

In the meantime more girls game, each had a stick in her hand. The sticks were marked and I would throw knifes. Not really, of course. I was in full gallop bareback on Deinos, the music was... designed to heighten the anxiety of the audience and it caused Deinos to buckle and kick and toss his head, he would even rear up. I guess he thought it was his show and I was just some sort of prop. I really loved that bastard, he was so very much like myself - absolutely self-centered, haughty, ungovernable and impatient. But he was a show-horse and loved the show, I never had any better show-horse. My skill with the bo-shuriken were lacking, throwing knifes were even harder to handle. The girls were dancing with the sticks before their bodies and Abrahamovics announced that a mistake by one millimeter would kill the girl. It was not that difficult - the "knifes" were in the sticks and the girls just had to release the spring and the knife would snap out. So - I pretended to throw the knife when in reality I slipped the knife back in my pocket, at the same moment the girl I had been aiming at released the spring and to the audience it looked like I was incredibly skilled.

After that I would grab the girl and take her a few rounds on Deinos with me, the music swelling dramatically, I would even jump through a burning hoop - a very very large hoop - with her in my arms. Yes, I am still proud of that because that was a real skill and something not many horsemen would achieve. The sole purpose of that stunt was to show that neither Deinos nor I nor the girl were tied to any sort of ropes, because now she would "faint" in my arms and I rode to the middle of the circus ring, secretly attaching some sort of fishhook to her corset. And then we had the second levitation number with her "flying" into the air. The other girls would dance around Deinos an me - this was a much needed chance to catch my breath - and then the girl "floating" in the air would be covered with black silk. It was not silk but tissue paper. A fanfare - the silk burst into flames with a "foosh" and a skeleton would fall to the ground. The skeleton was much larger than the girl but no one ever noticed. And no one ever noticed that I had covered the bones with rubber so they would not break when they fell onto the stage. To the people it was just a skeleton and while the usual screams came I rode to center stage and took off my mask, revealing my face. That caused even more screams than the girl being "killed" before their eyes.

The show was, all in, about half an hour, more or less, and we had only two rehearsals. But the ballet dancers, the musicians and the stage hands were professionals, they were really good, we went into the show after only two rehearsals.

The night before the first show and the day were a horror. I was so nervous, I just wanted to run away and if Chang hadn't talked me out of it I would have taken Deinos and fled. The first show was not flawless, but I somehow survived without suffering the humiliation of failing completely.

There were slight changes in the show during the time we did it, but the main part was always the same. It was one grand show a day and I got invitations from many rich people to entertain them with music and magic on private parties. So I did the circus show plus one private show each day and Chang and I could afford to live in an inn, not a noble hotel, but a cozy inn. We lived in one room together, bath and toilet outside of course, but it was a nice room with two separate beds, a table and two chairs.

At the first of my private shows I took Chang with me as my assistant because I wanted to do the knife-throwing trick with the stick. After that Chang would assist me with some minor work I could have done myself but it was easier with him doing it so I could concentrate on telling stories or playing music while he prepared the next trick. After the show they offered me something to drink. It was a glass with water - or so I thought. Yes, a quarter of a litre. It tasted like water and I drank it. Which turned out to be a mistake for it was not water, it was vodka. You see, "water" is "voda" in Russian and "ka" is just a diminuitive - so if you are offered "a little water" by a Russian, say njet. Just say njet.

Soon I felt it's effect, I was becoming more and more talkative and entertaining them with jokes and so on over dinner - I guess it was good, but I can't really remember how we got out of the house and back to the inn for I had even more vodka later. I remember being sick in the street and I am aware that Chang had some trouble getting me up the next day in time for the show. Doing a full magic show suffering a terrible hangover was not easy. I do not remember much but I somehow steered my way through the show that evening, I just remember that I was sick as soon as I had left the stage and would not be seen by the audience. The fire hoop? Yes, we did that, but the hoop was not raised but stayed down so Deinos would not jump, just walk through. I would never have survived a jump.

Not being forced to travel allowed me to spend much more time with my training. Chang refused to be my sparring partner, he claimed, I was ready for a true challenge. It was easy to get into trouble, I just had to walk a dark sidestreet at night and wait for someone to attack me. You see, usually a teacher would tell his pupils to stand in a circle and one of them would be in the middle. Then all would attack the one in the middle. Since he had only me, we had to improvise.

What? If I killed just for practice? Sure. I made sure they were all dead, or did you think I wanted anyone to go to the police? No, I do not think this was bad. You see, I disguised myself as a woman, my face hidden by darkness and a veiled hat, and when some men attacked I killed them. I think I made the world a better place by doing them in - really. They were scum, trying to rob or rape a helpless girl. They did not deserve to live. But that was not why I did it at all - I was not a policeman or a judge or a hangman. I did it for my training, simple as that. I looked for trouble and a fight just to practice my skills. Not uncommon and I never attacked anyone, so honest people were perfectly save.

No, of course I did not do that every night, silly! That would have brought too much attention to my little practice.

It was one of the bright nights in summer when Chang asked me to try armed men with fighting skills. I stared at him - how would I ever find ten armed men who would not just run away so I would get a real challenge? He knew that a group of soldiers on holiday were in the city, a bit too close to where we lived at that time, and they would drink and assault women each night. I just had to wait for them. No firearms, of course, for firearms belonged to the army, but they had knifes and knew how to use them and yes, they knew how to use them and had no qualms to spill blood.

They already had their victim when I found them. Chang was somewhere hidden in the shadows. So I had to change my plan - I took off my hat and the women's cloak and sneaked closer until I was about three meters away from them. "What are you doing?" I threw my voice right between them and they were confused who might be speaking. "Let the girl go!" I demanded, this time revealing myself. No, Deinos was not there - he would have given me away for there was only one horse like him in Nijnii Novgorod.

They let go of the girl who just fled in panic and faced me. I against a group of armed men. This certainly was a challenge for all of them were stronger than me, my advantage was my agility and my skills - and the use of weapons they did not know. I took a deep breath and concentrated like Chang had taught me to and suddenly something happened. Not in reality, only in my mind, but to me it was nevertheless real.

Time seemed to slow down and everything except my opponents became dark. All noises stopped except their heavy breathing. I think I could even hear their heartbeat - or was it mine? I felt - it is difficult to describe. I was not afraid, I was not even excited, I watched them and within split-seconds knew my strategy and how I would kill them. I took in their stance and knew they would die at my hands now. Or, if I underestimated them, I would die tonight. But I was no longer afraid of death, all I felt was an extraordinary calmness and serenity. Their attack was so slowly I almost laughed. Then I moved, felt my muscles and tendons, my bones and joints, I was still in that blissful serenity as the first one fell under my lasso. I had no time to retrieve it and pulled out both blades I had hidden in their scabbards at my back. Their steel seemed to have a blue gleam, especially the younger blade, as I drew blood. The fight seemed to last forever and I did not even care, but in reality it was over in a matter of seconds.

I came to myself, breathing heavily, when the last one fell.

I was calm and composed when I made my way back to our inn, making a large detour to go to the river Volga and wash off the blood from my clothes and my body. Only then did I notice that I had a cut in my face, it had nearly split my upper lip. And yes, other cuts too, but I did not feel them. I just cleaned up and got home. Chang was already there. He sat on the floor in the middle of the room, a candle burning on the floor before him. I got down on my knees and bowed to him, my face touching the wooden boards of the floor.

"I am no longer your teacher," he said and I was shocked. Hadn't I done well? I had done all I could - was that so wrong? What had I done wrong? He must have noticed my sudden panic for he went on: "There is nothing more I can teach you. You possess all the knowledge you need."

"But I am not good enough..." I cut in.

He silenced me with a gesture: "There is no difference between master and pupil. A master is a beginner who never gave up, who never stopped in his pursuit, who always followed his way. You are no master yet, but with enough time and practice you will become one. You will know, you will feel it in your heart." He bowed to me, this time his forehead touched the ground. Then he got up and said calmly: "Goodby, my son."

I was on my feet and between him and the door before I could think. "No! You are going nowhere!" I exclaimed horrified. I knew what he was doing - he was doing the same as Angelica! I had seen the signs, I had seen him becoming weaker and slower, losing weight, but I had refused to accept the truth. I had repressed that thought for it was too painful.

"Erik, I am old. The day will come when you will understand," he answered, "I do not want to become a burden."

"And I won't let you leave," I replied, as calmly as I could.

"I must leave," he insisted.

"Over my cold dead body!" I challenged and took my stance without any weapons for I would have to fight him without causing any injury. Well, bruises did not count. That moment I knew I would rather die than watching him leave. In fact, I was ready to die. I do not know how long we stood there, glaring at each other, and then he backed off, put down his bag and sat on his bed. I asked why he had not even tried to fight me.

"You would have won," was his simple answer, "Why fight when you already know you have lost?"

"Father, I am your son now, am I not? I will help you, you are just a bit ill and with enough care..."

"No, I am old," he answered, "But you have to promise me something: Never give up."

The same words Karl had used, the same promise. Never give up. Of course Karl had said these in German: "Gib niemals auf" and Chang said it in English. Of course I promised and that night I slept in his bed just to make sure he would not just sneak out of the room when I was asleep. I knew his stealth.

While I doubled my efforts to earn money - I did two shows now and all of them were sold out weeks before they would happen - and one private show each day. I knew we would need money for we had to stay in Nijni Novgorod even for the long and cold Russian winter. The inn was not luxurious but it was comfortable enough and I paid the innkeeper extra to get better food for Chang. He was right, he was in no condition to travel again. The show would not be running in winter - in winter the hall would be too cold, the ground frozen, it would be impossible. So I had to earn enough to pay for our stay until spring, I hoped Chang would be better then, but if it was old age I guess I should have been lucky to have him around.

It was a hard time. The first show was like the one I described, only of course I varied the tricks because I wanted people to visit more than one show, the second one was even more gruesome. I included more firework, darker music, more "killing" tricks - in fact I "killed" all my assistants with various methods in that late night show and made them reappear unharmed at the end of the show - and of course I had Deinos. The costumes changed, they were far too revealing - even mine. I exposed my horrible corpse-like body for the gawking audience. I stripped down do the waist and wore nothing but slim-fitting black trousers and a black silk cape that would flow behind me when I rode Deinos in full gallop. Everyone would see me nearly naked, except for my trousers and riding boots. These shows were sold out to the last ticket too, despite the fact that Abrahamovics demanded trice the entrance fee as for the other show.

It was more or less a fair agreement with Abrahamovics. It was his hall and my show, so after deducing the fee for the dancers, stagehands and other helpers and the cost for materials we divided the profit 1:1. I think this was fair for he was the one to do the background work, the management, hired the workers and musicians and dancers, did the advertisements and so on. What I got for private shows was mine but if he placed me in another job I paid him provisions.

And I had to care for Chang. My horses were in the inn's stable and taken care off. All I had to do was to care for Chang, whose health deteriorated quickly. At the end of summer I had to nurse him. It was so painful to see that strong man suddenly depending on my help to get up from bed. He needed my help to wash, even after the innkeeper brought a wooden washtub to our room. We had the best room in the house, it was called "suite" and it had a bedroom with nothing but two narrow beds and a livingroom with a table, chairs and a wood-burning stove. In that livingroom I could heat the water so he did not have to wash with cold water. I wanted him to be comfortable and he liked to keep himself clean.

There was a mirror which I had to use to shave. My face was not good if covered with a facial grey beard that irritated my skin further and caused even more pimples and itching and it was better to shave. Yes, with 16 I still had too many problems with my skin, even if I was now able to keep myself clean and had quite high hygienic standards for one of the travelling people.

It was a sad summer. I received much praise from the audience, they loved my magic show, they loved it so much in fact, some of them came several times, bringing their friends with them. But I could not enjoy the applause, I could not enjoy the long days and the bright nights, I could not enjoy the beautiful city - and Nijnii Novgorod is really worth visiting - for all I could think of was Chang. I realized how little time with him I had left and how much I still had to learn so I asked him to tell me of his master, his past, his knowledge.

I was sixteen and had to earn our livelihood and nurse the dying man who had become my father by heart. It was not easy and every time I left to go to work I was afraid I might come home to find him dead. But I had to work - how else could I pay the rent for the room, the food and all the little things we needed like hot water and paper? All I could do was to make him comfortable and help him preserve his dignity as far as possible when he needed my help to use the chamber pot or to wash.

And then at the begin of autumn the dreaded moment came. It had been one of those terrible nights were I had not slept at all for he was in so much pain and was sick, I feared he might die now. But sunrise came, noon came and he was still alive. I wanted to send a message to Abrahamovics to cancel the shows that day for I wanted to stay with Chang. I knew this was going to be the end, we had hours together, certainly less than a week. But he would have none of it, I had to go and do the show.

"I am dying, not you!" he scolded me, "You have to build up a live and you are on the best way to do so. Go, do your show! Off with you!"

I was crying when I arrived at the hall, everyone noticed that I was not concentrating on what I was doing, just going through the movements mechanically and I did not even wait for the last applause, I turned Deinos and almost flew back to the inn.

Chang was breathing softly when I entered the room. With a sigh of relief I sank to my knees beside his bed. He turned his head and smiled at me. Then he asked me to help him sit up and which way was East. He wanted to bow to his Tenno, his emperor, who is thought to be the descendant of their goddess Amaterasu. He did bow slightly and thanked me as I eased him back to his pillows.

"Erik, never give up. Go on. Go on, Erik, and never stop," he said and died. Just like that.

I do not know if he heard my desperate shriek: "You cannot die! I love you, father, I love you! You cannot die!"

The rest of the night is just in a blur in my mind. I remember crying all night, maybe I even slept a bit, for I woke shortly before noon because of a knock at the door. I opened and the horrified scream of the maidservant told me that I must have taken off my mask without even realizing. She ran. I slumped down on the floor without even realizing that I had left the door open.

Soon the innkeeper arrived. He too let out a scream but I lacked the strength to be angry. I merely sighed. He said something, I guess he was telling me to pack and to leave. I turned my head and looked up at him. "I will stay," I answered, "As long as I decide to. If you ever bother me again, you are a dead man." I do not know why but he backed away and left me alone.

Mechanically I got dressed and went to fetch Deinos who carried me to the hall, he was happy that we would have fun again. He knew the way and was eager to perform or I would never have arrived there. Abrahamovics was shocked at my unkept appearance and the way I swayed on my feet.

"Are you ill?" he asked worriedly. He was not afraid of me, he knew I was just a trickster and not a real magician, he knew too much of my tricks.

"My father died last night," I answered, my voice low as if it came directly from a grave.

"My deepest condolences," he answered, "Are you able to perform or do we have to cancel?"

"I will go on," I answered, remembering Chang's last words to me. I must not give up because I was alone again. I must go on.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "You look horrible."

"I always do," I answered humorlessly, "Let's get it over with."

I do not know why but that show was one of the best I had ever done. I even included my lasso - of course I told them before that I would - without doing any harm. I have to admire the brave girl who acted as my target with the lasso - I could easily have killed her. It was a magnificent show.

If Abrahamovics hadn't stopped me I would have gone home without changing into my streetclothes and mask. "You can't be seen in the streets half-naked," he reasoned as he grabbed my arm just in time to hold me back. I nodded, feeling empty, tired, dead. I felt I was leaving my body that felt so alien to me then that I had to cut myself to stay in control. I cut myself on my breast, leaving small and precise cuts.

I do not know when I came back to the inn, using the back-entrance to avoid meeting anyone. Maybe I did push someone out of my way, I do not know. I hurried up to my room, hoping against hope to find Chang breathing. He looked to peaceful in his bed, as if he was sleeping. I held my breath and waited for him to breathe again. When he did not, I picked him um, took his favourite weapon, the poisoned bo-shuriken, and put it in his pocket. Then I wrapped him in a white linen and carried him to the stable. There I took a pickaxe and a shovel and tied Chang's body to one of the pack-horses. I lead the horse out of the city and found a secret spot near the road to the East, there I lied him into the grave that would forever remain unmarked, bowed one last time to him and covered it with earth. Afterwards I tried my best to cover it so no one would ever find him. He was lying with his head to the East, to Edo, where his Tenno lived.

The next day I packed my belongings and left the inn, much to the innkeepers relief. Abrahamovics was surprised to find me backstage with all my belongings packed and horses saddled. I told him I needed a place to stay if he wanted me to do the shows and not move on right now. He agreed to find me some acceptable hotel until after the show. I guess he was scared that all the customers who already had tickets for the shows the two wees to come would demand their money back - when I had already gotten my share.

He kept his word, he found me a hotel. It was not a house with a very good reputation, it was one of those hotels where people could stay for a night and would not be asked if the girl at their side was really their wife or the boy was really their son. They had a bar, the room was kept in gold and red velvet, trying to make it look like it was a very noble bar. They even had a piano. I do not know how many nights I spend there, playing the piano, ignoring the customers who liked my music and invited me to have a drink. I guess I should have asked a salary for providing entertainment all night long, but I was not able to ask for that. All I wanted was to get drunk each night, drink until the pain stopped, the pain of returning to my room alone and knowing Chang was dead. I needed to be drunk to be able to sleep. And then I slept late until some worker Abrahamovics had hired, came to wake me up and get me to do my show. I refused private shows then, it just did not make sense to me to earn more - for what? For myself? Why should I?

It was Abrahamovics, surely afraid about the quality of his shows, who finally asked me to drink less. He even invited me to dine with him, just to make sure I would not drink alcohol that night. He was a cultivated and well-educated man and I agreed just because I hoped it would somehow ease the pain from the loss of my father. Of course I knew he did not care for me, he was just worried about bad business - I was his star, he needed me alive and well.

But when I left after our dinner and he asked me not to drink that night he said: "It is hard to be orphaned at such a young age. How old are you really? Not the story for the audience that you are centuries old. I noticed that you are still growing quite fast, I see it in your costume and the new riding boots you required. You are a child."

"I'm going to be 17 in winter," I answered. It was the truth. 17 felt so very old to me. That time I thought 17 was close to 20 and 20 close to 100. I felt at least like 170 - and did not know why I was still alive. I did not want to live any longer, I just wanted to lie down and be left alone to die in peace. But I could not break my promise to Chang, I had to go on, if I liked it or not.

"That's young for your skills. I am sorry for your loss, Erik. But what would your father say if he saw you becoming a drunkard? Do you think he would approve? I saw him when he visited one of your shows," Abrahamovics went on and my head jerked up, I had not known that Chang actually came to see my shows. "He told me he was so very proud of you, you were worth serving kings and emperors."

I broke down sobbing like a baby. It was just too much for me to bear. Somehow he took me back to the hotel and made sure I was safe in my room before he left me. I heard Chang's stern rebuke in my mind that I needed to stay awake and alert all the time, that I should not give up, that I should go on. I was ashamed of myself that I had forgotten and promised silently not to disappoint him. I had no idea what I would be doing or where I might go in the future, but I knew for sure that I would not just lie down and die.

When I went through his belongings I found all the gems and rings I had given him or thought I had lost. He had kept them for me as he had kept all his weapons for me. I even found a painting he had done. It was just an ink drawing. It showed a ghost rising from a hill and floating over a small child. I knew that in his religion - he believed in some kind of syncretism of Shinto and Buddism, both religions are way out of my understanding - I do not even understand my own religion. But in his religion the soul of the ancestors could become a kami and a kami is a... a ghost, a spirit, who can be good or bad and who can protect someone. I guess he wanted to tell me that if he became a kami he would always be there for me.

I knew they sometimes lit incense sticks to honor their ancestors. I did what was equivalent in my religion - lightening a candle in a church. I did not care much that it was a Russian-Orthodox church and not a Catholic. I had seen so many religions that all that mattered to me was that it was Christian.

Autumn came and I went on in my life, doing what I had to do to survive and enjoying the pleasure of staying in one place for now I had time to read. I discovered the world of imagination in my head, that I could escape the cruelty of my life for a few hours if I just lay on my bed and read books. I loved books about science - all science. You can say that studying became a cherished hobby - which seemed natural to me, I was in an age where boys might go to university to study. Without any graduation from any school I knew I had no chance to be admitted to any university, but this did not matter. Books were much better for I could read them in my room, alone, undisturbed by people who wanted to be entertained and if I did not give them what they wanted they would entertain them with mocking me.

It is ridiculous, but the very same people who sat cheering in my magic shows and came back trice or even more often demanded I would not be allowed to enter church at Sunday, not be allowed to visit a concert or a ballet. I was in no mood to fight then, I turned my back on them and went back to my books and my solitude.

It was then that I decided to go back to Germany. Now I surely was good enough to become a magician in one of the resident circuses. No more travelling around the world, settle down, have a nice room, a piano and many books. One show a day, nothing more. I felt so old, it was my dream to retire - of course I knew I could not afford that right now, but one show a day would not be such a bad thing. Yes, I was seventeen and wanted to retire for I felt my energy was spent and I did not want to fight for much. I did not have any high-flying dreams, my dream was a nice room - not even a flat, I was quite modest that time - and many books and to be left in peace. That might be acquired in one of the large resident circuses in Germany.

Abrahamovics was not happy when I told him I would leave before the winter. He had hoped I might stay for another season.

It was in the middle of autumn and I was nearly done packing, thinking of how I could travel alone with all these things and the horses. I certainly could not do it alone, but I might be able to pay for a baggage wagon and go by train. That would require some very uncomfortable discussion with the men working at the railway station but it would be better than not being able to travel at all or leaving my belongings and horses behind.

It was only one week more before I would leave Nijnii Novgorod forever, when Abrahamovics came to me after one of the most gruesome shows I had ever done. I was experimenting with false blood then to make the decapitation-trick a bit more... alive. And of course I had added the false blood to all of my assistants whom I would "kill" and bring back from the dead.

"Erik, there is a man, who..." he started.

"No! I told you I am no longer interested in private shows! Send him away!" I snapped.

"But he..."

"NO!" I yelled, "How many times do I have to tell you that no means no?"

The man obviously had not waited where he was told to wait for he came to the backstage where I was busy cleaning Deinos with a soft cloth and silently cursing my idea with the false blood. It was not too easy to remove from his coat, real blood would have been easier. Next time it would be a pig's blood.

"Good evening, sir," he greeted me in a heavily accented Russian. I merely grunted and turned my back on him. "Don't be angry with your impresario, he tried to send me away." I still did not respond, hoping he would leave me alone. I was not really there you see - my thoughts were already in Germany and my hope to find Karl again. There are only so many large circuses and surely not many clowns with a pugs. "Sir, maybe you would hear my offer," that man continued.

I lost my patience and turned on him. I was still half naked, my cloak swirling behind me and fake blood was sprayed on my face and torso. When I stepped up on him, narrowing my eyes, baring my teeth like a snarling wolf he did not back away, I could see he was sweating and gulping, even trembling, but he did not back away, not even when I was mere inches from his face - if I had had a nose, our noses might have touched.

"So, you want to offer me something? Really? Are you ready to die if I do not like your offer?" I snarled.

"I doubt you would really do that," he answered, his voice shaking, but still he stood his ground, he was pale, his dark skin almost grey. He had raven black hair and jade green eyes, an unusual combination, and he was taller than me, not much, but he was. He was a beautiful man, looking like one of the great statues and immediately I envied him, especially because I saw my reflection in the stage-mirrors that had been turned.

"You think so?" I smiled and took a few steps back, no longer able to endure being so close to him, "It's your funeral. Get it over with."

"I've been sent to deliver a message from the Shah of Persia," he said and now it was my turn to nearly faint. This was a joke, wasn't it? Why should a king even know I existed, much less try to contact me?

"He grants you an audience," the man said in a rich baritone voice.

"And why do you think I would grant him an audience?" I snapped, still convinced this man was just playing a prank on me.

He reached into his pocket and handed me a document. It might be forgery, it was a bit too richly decorated, but then - what did I know of Persian documents? I studied him. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen - dark skin, raven black hair and beard, and jade green eyes. The color of his eyes was unusual but that made it even more beautiful. He was slim but well-muscled. He was a young man.

He was uneasy at my haughtiness that I would refuse to grant a king an audience with me - as if I was someone far higher in social status than a king. Little did he know that I believed he was just playing a prank on me. I thought he was just a bored rich man who had decided to fool me. And he was rich - that much I saw from his exquisite clothing, the ring and the golden pocket watch. When he realized I was still waiting for an answer he said uneasily: "The Shah of Persia demands your presence at his court to see if the stories the merchants told are true - that there is a magician who can defy nature itself."

I still could not believe that I was good enough to attract the attention of a king and I doubted that anyone would spread the tale of my show to Persia. Why would they? It was just a magic show, a very good one, but nothing more. "So he wants me to travel more than 3000 kilometers for just one show?" I snapped, "Why would I do that?"

"He offers a generous fee and sends this as goodwill gesture," he reached in his pocket and handed me a heavy golden necklace with a beautifully crafted amulet with red ruby and diamonds. That was more valuable than everything I owned then.

"If that is just a small token, a goodwill gesture, I expect a truly royal recompense for my trouble, if I would agree."

"It is not just about one show," the man with the green eyes answered, "If you prove the stories right - and after seeing your show tonight I think you will even surpass them - you will he hired to entertain the royal family regularly."

"And if I do not want to be a court jester?" I replied, not sure if I wanted this job. The position of a court jester is not one I had ever thought about in my life before. But Chang's words rang in my head, that I was worthy to serve a king, that I was better off if I was in a seemingly unimportant position than in a very high ranking. If this was not a prank but real it might be my chance to come out of the gutter, to stop traveling, to have a place to stay and build up some sort of life - as far as it would be possible for someone such as I.

He spread his hands and let out a shuddering breath. "The Shah would be very disappointed in me."

He did not need to say more - if this was true and not just a cruel joke he would face severe punishment for his failure to fetch me. There was one thought that made it all attractive for me. He had said "the royal family" - that indicated a family with children. I would not do gruesome shows like now, I would be able to cover myself and entertain them with funny things, the clown magic I liked. At least for the children. And if they liked me - who knows what chances would open to me? A court jester usually is able to tell the king things no one else ever dares to say - and can become something more. It might be a first step towards a life far above the life of a traveling street entertainer.

I cocked my head and smiled at him. "If you lie to me it is your head I will take as recompense," I said in a cheerful voice, "So tell me - what is it the Shah is offering me?"

"He wants you to become an entertainer for the royal family," he answered, "And if he likes what you are doing, there is no limit for what you might become in the future."

I told him I had to think about his offer. It was tempting and it might be the only chance I would ever get in my life. Better a court jester than a circus freak, isn't it? At least it would be far better paid, less work and a comfortable life. So why not? It wasn't as if I had any better plans for my future. But I kept him waiting, knowing if I said yes too easily he would not value me.

I kept my promise to Abrahamovics and did all the shows I had promised. After the last show there was some sort of farewell-party for the group would break up. The only one who was not invited was I. That hurt, it hurt terribly, I had been the one to design the show, I had been the star, without me there would have been no magic show. This showed me exactly where my position in their society was - at the very bottom. I guess they would rather have invited Deinos than me. I was deeply hurt and in my first rage I thought about going there and spoiling their fun, but then I decided I would not do that. I would not subject myself to the humiliation and pain they would inflict upon me. It wasn't worth that. I felt so old again, so very old and weary.

As always the Persian was waiting for me at my hotel. "I am still waiting for an answer," he said.

"I've been told winter is beautiful in Persia," I answered with an indifferent shrug that cost me so much strength. I wanted to throw myself on my bed, bury my face in the pillow and cry, but I would not, I was no longer a child. I looked at the bluish steel of the blades and whispered: "Father, I hope this is what you wanted me to do."

* * *

The deformed man leaned back against the wall, tears falling from his eyes. The pain of that memory was still all to present and he could not deny himself what little comfort he got from crying.

He kept silent for a while, then leaned forward and reached out to his patient listener as the beautiful white horse turned his head to look at the deformed man who sat on a straw bale. He lifted his hand to gently caress the velvet grey nose of the gelding who in turn came closer and nuzzled the man's cheek, pushing his head off from his head. "O Cesar," Erik laughed, "You are such a good friend, you always manage to make me laugh." Erik started to caress Cesar's grey nose and white forehead with both hands as the horse pushed his nose into Erik's breast. They had done this often and understood the meaning of each other's gestures.

"I kept you up all night and we did not even have time for a nice ride," Erik said, "But next time I will not talk, we will just enjoy a ride in the summer night in the Bois. You like that, don't you? Yes, I agree, it is no life just staying in the cellars of the Opera house. Sometimes we two need to venture outside, enjoy the wind in our faces and running through the fresh grass - next time, my friend, I promise. Now, who wants a healthy brush?" He reached for the brush and started to brush the white coat while the horse turned his head and nibbled at Erik's sleeve as if he wanted to return the favour. Erik smiled happily and Cesar gave a pleased purr-like snort.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _This is a very long chapter, I know. But I honestly could not find any point where I could stop writing. So, if someone would take the time to write a detailed review: Since there is a limit how many words you can use in a review, I suggest that you write the first review when logged in and then continue in a second review while logged out, just give me your name so I do not get confused which review was written by whom. But of course if you can stuff all you want to say in just one review, I'll be very happy about that too._

 _You remember Leroux's book where Erik tells the Daroga he kissed Christine: "_ Yes, she was waiting for me...waiting for me erect and alive, a real, living bride...as she hoped to be saved...And, when I...came forward, more timid than...a little child, she did not run away...no, no...she stayed...she waited for me...I even believe...daroga...that she put out her forehead...a little...oh, not much...just a little... like a living bride...And...and...I...kissed her!... I!...I!...I!...And she did not die!...Oh, how good it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead!..." _Well, here is the explanation: Erik truly thinks that a woman might die from terror at the mere touch of his lips. Poor Erik, he does not know that the real cause for the whore's death in my story would be the drugs and the stress from her work - Erik just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but with the warning of his mother that his touch could give a woman a heart attack he thinks it is his fault._

 _Erik is so traumatized by that shock that he mentally falls apart to a level where he thinks he leaves his body. Of course he does not really do it, it is a hallucination trauma victims sometimes report - they have the feeling that they leave their body while the body and not oneself is abused. It can happen in every situation unendurable to a person._

 _The Japanese blades - just for those who are in those things, I indicated that it is a Masamune and a Muramasa blade. Ask wikipedia ;-)_

 _Writing the route Erik could have taken was a bit like a game - which road is old enough so he could have taken it? If you ever have a chance to visit Samarkand - do so. They re-build the observatory and the mosques which were nothing but ruins when Erik saw them. ;-)_

 _Akhal Teke - the golden horses. They do exist and are still bred even in Europe. Wonderful horses, but nothing for beginners._

 _Nijnii Novgorod was more important than Moscow that time - it was the commercial center in the years around 1850. In Nijnii Novgorod there are still large fairgrounds._

 _If you want to know what Erik's magic show might have been like - combine a classic ballet with a David Copperfield show and the dancing horses of Appassionata, then you get a good impression. Again, all tricks I describe do work - although I did not do them myself. I know the theory but lack practice._

 _Surprise! Did anyone suspect whom Erik was talking to? To be perfectly honest - I happen to talk to talk to animals like my pug or the horse I am usually riding in the riding school._

 _Despite the rather unusually long chapter I hope to receive many reviews. This story was only to cover Erik's childhood. I think I might write about his time in Persia as well, but I'm not sure, right now I am lacking ideas. Maybe I get the inspiration - like always - from your review?_


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